


Over His Shoulder

by The_Nerd_Alert



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ghosts, Alternate Universe - Horror, Blood, Ghosts, Gore, Haunting, Horror, Kidnapping, M/M, Male-Female Friendship, Male/Male, Minor Character Death, Movie inspiration, Possession, Schizophrenia, Tags will be updated, based off of the movie Mama, graphic depictions of gore, looking for long lost lover
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-26
Updated: 2016-06-08
Packaged: 2018-04-11 06:55:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 65,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4425659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Nerd_Alert/pseuds/The_Nerd_Alert
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"My husband went on a camping trip five years ago...  I'm not sure what came back."</p><p>Steve and Bucky are a happily married couple that say goodbye to each other when Bucky goes off on a weekend camping trip. Five years later, Steve still searches for his missing husband, whom most presume dead. When a John Doe is discovered in the woods, feral and lost, Steve recognizes him as his missing husband, and vows to bring him back to his former self, no matter the costs.</p><p>But what Steve doesn't realize is that when he brought Bucky back from the woods, he may have brought something else with him... something that wants to take Bucky back forever; and that something may be far more sinister than anyone could have ever imagined.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Vanishing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [L1av](https://archiveofourown.org/users/L1av/gifts).



> THIS IS A HORROR STORY. I'M NOT GOING TO SUGAR-COAT IT FOR YOU ALL, THIS STORY IS GOING TO BE VERY UNSETTLING TO READ. THERE WILL BE GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF VIOLENCE, DEATH, AND DISTURBING IMAGERY THAT MANY PEOPLE MAY FIND TOO UNCOMFORTABLE TO READ THROUGH.
> 
> That being said, this is a gift for my dear friend L1av, who adores horror and loved the movie "Mama" when i recommended it to them. When I mentioned that I wanted to make a fanfic based off of the movie, I decided to make this a gift to them, considering they loved it so much. I'm very pleased with the way the story is turning out so far, and I do hope that you all enjoy it, disturbing moments and all!

**Chapter 1**

 

The bright, cheery tones of Autumn surrounded the house with golden leaves and a brisk, chilly wind tickled the neighborhood around them. The sun was low in the sky, casting golden beams of light across the houses lining the wooded neighborhood; the smell of pies baking in kitchens, wood fires in adjacent yards, and the clean, crisp tang of impending winter floated on the cool air around them.

 

Steve smiled, wrapping his arms around his husband’s waist and held him close to his chest. He glanced down at his left hand, admiring the glint of the golden band around his left ring finger. A month after being married, and it still felt surreal, like he was walking on clouds every time he thought about it. _‘I married my best friend...’_ he thought to himself, giddy at the idea. ‘ _How fucking lucky could I get?’_

 

“Babe…” Steve whined, looking down at his husband with a pout on his lips. “Do you really have to go? I don’t wanna spend our first weekend in the new house alone…”

 

James Barnes -or Bucky as Steve liked to call him- laughed and pulled back in the cradle of Steve’s arms for a moment to beam up at him. “I see someone’s gonna be lonely without me. And uh... who was the one that insisted I go on this weekend away, hm? I think his initials start with S.B., formerly known as S.R.” Despite his teasing tone, he reached up and let his fingers dance along the line of his spouse’s defined, stubbled jaw.

 

Steve blushed and looked down between their chests for a moment. He hated when Bucky was right; he _had_ insisted Bucky still go on his yearly camping trip. It wasn’t his fault that their move from Brooklyn happened to coincide with it. Still, he nuzzled into the touch on his cheek, and he laughed. “Yeah, but that was before we brought Sarge home. He’s just a puppy, Bucky. You’re really gonna abandon your brand new baby for a whole two days? You’re a bad daddy.”

 

Bucky grinned, glancing over his husband’s shoulder into the house. In the middle of the floor, a tiny black and white husky puppy lay curled up on a massive doggie bed; Sarge wagged his tail happily and yipped into the quiet room as he chewed on a large rubber toy with enthusiasm. “I think he would be more devastated if I took that toy with me,” he chuckled; but after a moment, he looked up at his husband and his smile faltered. “Stevie… if you really don’t want me to go, just say the word. I’m pretty sure Dugan and the guys won’t mind if I sat this weekend out. We DID just move in this week, baby…”

 

Steve shook his head, giving Bucky a sympathetic look.He reached up, pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose from where they slid, and smiled down at him. “Babe, it’s your _one_ weekend a year that you get to really spend any time with your buddies. I would go with, but you remember what happened the last time I tried to join you. ‘Put a 6’2 asthmatic in the woods and see how that goes’. That’s what we shoulda named that fun-filled weekend.”

 

They both remembered that trip well. The Autumn before last, Bucky had insisted Steve come with him out to the woods with his other squad mates to spend a weekend drinking and laughing. Considering they had just gotten engaged a few months prior, neither of them had wanted to be separated for even a few days; their friends teased them mercilessly about being overly dependant on each other, but they both preferred it that way. The first night in camp had been fun, but Steve, shamefully, had to admit defeat by the very next day, when his asthma had kicked in full force, rendering him completely immobile in the tent. He felt horrible that Bucky had had to spend the next 24 hours in the tent with him, caring for him while he struggled to breathe in cold, October air without proper medicine to help him get by; granted Bucky had been more than willing to care for his fiance, but guilt was guilt and Steve had been loaded with it that weekend.

 

Bucky snorted and shook his head; he pinched Steve’s ass playfully and made him jump.  “Baby, I do this weekend with them every year, I’m sure skipping one weekend won’t kill me. You’re more important than that.”

 

Steve rolled his eyes, fighting the urge to giggle wildly at that profession of adoration. Steve was never going to get over how easily Bucky could get him to turn into a blushing schoolgirl. Instead, he combated the blush by pinching his spouse’s ribs sharply in return. “Shut up, martyr, and go on your camping trip.”

 

“Ouch!” Bucky yelped, rubbing his rib before frowning at him. “Domestic abuse! I give you a compliment and you pinch me? Rude.”

 

“Oh quit whining and go get your duffle!” Steve laughed, holding the screen door open for his husband. “I’ll be fine. I’ll spend the weekend hitting the town with Sam and Clint. They’ll take me to all the best strip clubs in the area. I’ll be getting all hot and bothered without you.”

 

“Oooh, don’t tempt me, Mr. Barnes.” Bucky growled, grinning ferally up at him. “I’ll tell Dugan to hang back for an hour and remind you exactly why going to a strip club would be a waste of your time…” he purred out those last words, running his fingers up the expanse of Steve’s back.

 

Steve shivered, feeling his skin prickling with delight at the touch. To know that Bucky found him so Goddamn attractive at all times, gave Steve a serious ego-boost. Steve wasn’t sickly. He was tall, fairly well built, but certainly not cut or heavily muscled; still, he thought he looked pretty damn good in a bathing suit, and on the night of their wedding, he’d spent hours adorned in a fairly scandalous pair of silk underwear that Bucky had gotten quite the rise out of.

 

Sure, Bucky was stronger than him, but that had only been because he’d been an Army Sergeant for so long. Steve didn’t mind being reminded of that. He’d gladly worn the bruises he’d gotten on his back from Bucky holding him up against the wall and fucking his brains out. Noise complaints aside, that honeymoon suite had been well used that night. “Bucky, don’t even start something you won’t finish…” He muttered, casting a daring look over his shoulder at him.

 

Bucky grinned, winking at him. “You know you look fucking sexy when you give me the evil eye with your nerd glasses, right?” Bucky asked, licking his lower lip tantalizingly.

 

“Mhm… and when you come back from your trip, you’re gonna find me in the house, all alone, in nothing _but_ these nerd glasses.” Steve retorted, crossing his arms over his chest as he smiled down at him. Suddenly, a pair of arms wrapped around his waist, yanking him into a broad chest. He gasped, looking down at his partner with wide eyes, and a groan bubbled up his chest. “Bucky…” he whimpered; he was already hot around the collar, and those full, red lips were so damn close… he just needed to lean in a few inches...

 

Bucky grinned, choosing to close that gap himself. He pulled Steve into a deep kiss, their lips crashing together as he gripped the back of the blond’s sweater. Steve went willingly, tongue prodding into Bucky’s mouth to taste his unique essence and savor him for a few moments longer. Sure, it was only a weekend, but it was going to be a long weekend without Bucky in his bed. He’d slept with him almost every single night for 4 years straight, ever since they started dating.

 

Their kiss was interrupted by the sound of a truck horn being blown loudly into the quiet neighborhood. Steve pulled away to look out the front door, cheeks flushed as he panted quietly for breath. Sure enough, Dugan’s SUV was parked outside the house; around the truck stood Dugan, Falsworth, and Morita. Dernier and Jones had taken a separate car and headed up north to secure them a campsite, already.

 

“‘EY! GET YOUR ASS OUT HERE, BARNES!” Dugan shouted, grinning wildly as he waved at the house. “We’re all waitin’ on ya to finish making nookie with the hubby, anytime now!”

 

Bucky groaned, rolling his eyes as he shot his partner an apologetic look. “Sorry…” he muttered, flushing dark red.

 

Steve just laughed, pulling away. He grabbed Bucky’s duffel bag from the sofa and shoved it into his arms. When Bucky turned, Steve swung low, swatting his husband on the ass as Bucky darted out the front door. “Hurry back! Don’t get lost out there, and if a crazy woodland axe-murderer chases you, you better run! I don’t feel like getting married again, you’re the best husband I’ve ever had!” Steve called, leaning his hip against the frame of the front door.

 

Bucky turned on his heel and grinned wildly up at him. “Your ONLY husband, I hope!” He called back, waving at him. “I’ll see you Monday night, baby! And I expect you to jump my bones the minute I get back!”

 

Steve grinned, flashing him a wink. “I’ll be naked, waiting for you. I hope you like chocolate whipped cream!”

 

A chorus of groans came from Bucky’s friends, which caused the spouses to laugh loudly. “That’s bloody disgusting!” Falsworth groaned, slapping his hand over his face. “I don’t need to be thinking about that this entire weekend, boys. It’s worse than seeing my gran in her knickers!”

 

Steve laughed and waved at them as he watched Bucky toss his duffle into the back of the SUV. But when he looked down, he spotted the camera bag sitting on the porch bench. Bucky had bought the camera over the summer, and had already filled up two SD cards with videos of the two of them. He’d suggested recording his weekend away so he could show Steve what they _really_ do on those trips, rather than lay in a tent the entire time. Steve had readily bought him a new memory card just for that weekend. “Bucky! The camera!” he shouted; he grabbed the bag and jogged up to the truck to stop them before they left.

 

Bucky poked his head out the window; he grinned down at Steve before grabbing the bag from him. “Thanks, babe. I dunno what I’d do without you.”

 

“I can think of a few things, but none of them are as fun without me.” Steve replied. He leaned in, pressed Bucky into a final kiss, and then stepped back on his heel to clear the truck’s path. He wrapped his arms around his waist as a cold breeze kicked up around him and cut through the fibers of his wool sweater. “Get outta here, all of you! I’m going back inside where it’s warm!”

 

The chorus of goodbyes that echoed from the truck made Steve smile, and he waved as the SUV pulled away from the curb. Steve smiled, laughing as he watched Bucky hang out the window to wave back at him. Steve stood by the curb for a few moments longer, watching the SUV disappear around the corner. Alone, Steve wrapped his arms around his waist tighter to ward off the cold and made his way up the stairs of their brand new house. He hesitated on the steps, looking up at the cloudless sky above him; as he watched the skies above, he heard a whistle of wind casting across the leaves above him. The sound was low and mournful, and he felt a shiver zing up his spine at the sudden drop in temperature and the frankly ominous tone of the wind whipping through the treetops above him. His smile faltered from his lips as he stared up at the skies.

 

“Weird…” he murmured, shaking his head as he slipped into the warmth of his house. He closed the door, locking himself inside the warm haven of his perfect world. Quite suddenly, Steve wished he _had_ asked Bucky to stay home with him. He hadn’t slept alone in so long… he slept better with his partner’s arms around him. Now, he just felt alone and cold, like all the warmth in the world had been sucked out of his life once Bucky had left him behind. He didn’t like that feeling, at all.

 

Still, Steve shook his head to ward off the negative thoughts that plagued him. He was being silly. “It’s only two days…” he told himself, padding quietly into the kitchen to put on a pot of tea. “You’ll see him again, soon…”

 

~*~

 

Bucky had left on a Friday afternoon, headed off to a campsite some 2 hours north from their Warwick home in upstate New York. He’d left with Dugan, Falsworth and Morita, ready to meet up with the last of their squad mates for a weekend of hiking, outdoor cooking and drinking beer while they regaled their lives since the ARMY; it was a weekend to enjoy life for the simple pleasures and forget about the world around them for awhile, and Steve had always condoned Bucky to go on these little retreats when he could. If it helped Bucky forget about the trials he’d seen over in the Middle East, then he’d happily let Bucky have those weekends to himself.

 

Steve had seen Bucky off on a few of those weekend getaways. They always ended by Monday afternoon, on the dot, with Bucky returning with huge smiles, a million bug bites, and an itch to drag Steve to their bedroom for an entire night and day to come. Steve didn’t honestly complain about those moments either.

 

But Monday afternoon came and went, and there had been no sign of Bucky. Steve shrugged it off, thinking that maybe the gang had gotten a late start back into town. Maybe they’d hit traffic. Perhaps they had gotten lost. There were plenty of reasons why Bucky was late coming back. There was no reason to panic.

 

So he sat in the front living room, reading a book without really reading it, and casting glances at the front door every few minutes. He would be patient… he was a patient husband. The sun set, the room grew dark… night fell, and still there was no sign of Bucky. Growing irritated, Steve called his cell phone to see where he’d gone off to. But much to his surprise, Steve found his call had gone right to Bucky’s inbox. He rationalized that maybe the battery had died, so he tried to call Dugan’s phone. Again, the call went straight to voicemail.

 

Steve tried every single man that had gone off on that camping trip, in hopes of getting a hold of someone; not a single one of them picked up. As the hours ticked by, Steve grew worried that something had happened to them, and immediately called Sam to voice his concerns.

 

 _“Relax, dude,  they probably got caught up in traffic somewhere. They were just out in the woods for two days, I’m pretty sure their phones just died. Bucky will be home, you’ll see.”_ Sam had assured him. Unconvinced, Steve sat up the entire night in the front living room, staring out the window as he waited for those familiar headlights to come and bring him his husband back.

 

They never showed up.

 

The next day, Steve went to the police to file a missing person’s report, with Sam at his side. It wasn’t like Bucky to just disappear without telling Steve where he had gone. He told him he was going on a camping trip for two days, and that he would be back. Bucky had no reason to lie to him. It scared Steve shitless to think that something had happened to Bucky while he was out in those woods; but he had no leads to give the police on where to look. They always chose a different campsite every year, and in the bustle of their recent move, Steve couldn’t remember which campsite they had gone to this time. For the first time in years, Steve cried himself to sleep that night, clutching Bucky’s pillow as his mind played cruel tricks on him, bringing up the most terrifying outcomes that could have possibly befallen his husband out there.

 

Days turned into a week, and finally two weeks. Still, there was no sign as to where Bucky might have disappeared to. Six grown men, gone in the blink of an eye with no clue as to what could have possibly happened to them. Steve stopped eating; he barely slept. All he could think about was Bucky and what he would give to have him back. Hours passed, and Steve would sit in his front living room, staring out the window to the calm street before his house; his mind was stuck on autopilot, repeating the same phrase, over and over again. ‘ _Bucky, where did you go… where are you, baby?’_

 

It was early Wednesday morning in November, when Steve had finally managed to get some decent rest since his search for Bucky had started. He had managed to doze off in the sitting room of the house, with his arms wrapped around Bucky’s pillow like it was his last lifeline in the world; he really only found comfort in the things that belonged to his missing husband those days. Steve had managed a couple hours of sleep, when his cell phone rang, startling him into consciousness. A thrill of excitement caught in his chest as he snatched the phone up, hoping beyond hope that it was Bucky on the other end, ready to offer up a heartfelt apology for being gone so long, and a joke to lighten Steve’s broken heart.

 

But it wasn’t Bucky. It was the Copake Police department. The police had found the campsite and they needed Steve to go directly to the morgue to identify the bodies they had found there.

 

His world came to a screeching halt. Bodies… morgue… crime scene. They had been murdered, all of them.

 

Steve didn’t remember anything after that. The last thing he could recall was listening to the officer tell Steve that the site had been discovered, coated in blood and disarray, and bodies had been strewn about the campsite in the most grotesque display they had ever witnessed. Steve didn’t remember hanging up the phone. Steve didn’t remember calling Sam in hysterics. The next thing he _did_ remember was waking up on the floor of his home, clutching his phone to his chest and sobbing uncontrollably, while Sam and Clint knelt over him, trying to bring him back from the brink of insanity.

 

They told him he was inconsolable. They told him he couldn’t focus and all he could say to them was one sentence, repeated in a frantic cadence: _“Bucky’s dead, Bucky’s dead, Bucky’s dead!”_ Steve honestly couldn’t recall any of it. Not that he really wanted to. What did it matter? Bucky was gone… murdered by some psychopathic lunatic out in the woods like Deliverance. Why the fuck had he made that joke about the axe-murderer? Why the fuck had he said that?! Bucky was gone now… God, Steve couldn’t let go of that guilt that he’d possibly jinxed his husband’s death all along with one stupid, fucking joke!

 

Sam and Clint had given Steve some time to recover enough to walk on his own. Hours passed; they patiently waited as Steve sobbed his broken heart into Bucky’s pillow, wishing beyond reason that this was all a sick joke. Bucky was waiting for him… right? Bucky had to be fine! If he was gone, Steve didn’t know what he’d do with his life. Bucky was fine… Bucky was alive. Bucky was coming home.

 

But that hope was quickly dashed as the moments ticked by, with no sign of Bucky’s survival to be had. It wasn’t a joke. They were all dead…

 

Now… now, a two-hour car ride later, he just sat in the waiting room of the Copake morgue wringing his scarf in his hands desperately as he waited for the coroner to fetch him. The harsh overhead lights shone down on him in a sickly pale glow, illuminating his hands and casting his pale fingers in a sallow hue. Steve stared at the floor in front of him, his elbows pressed into his knees as he hunched over in the chair in exhaustion. At his right, Sam sat quietly, his hand running up and down his spine to soothe him in his misery. Clint had long since left to tell Natasha about the news; Steve was sure their friends would all know what had happened to Bucky by nightfall.

 

Steve felt hot tears running down his face… but he was too exhausted to utter even a peep. He’d already sobbed himself into an asthma attack twice and his chest and temples were pounding in agony from the stress he put himself through. Goddammit, he remembered the past two weeks in vivid clarity, replaying those moments over and over again; the moments he cried quietly and begged for Bucky to come back… the moments he angrily cursed his husband for disappearing and _‘Why the hell would he just leave me like that?_ ’. His shoulders quaked as he inhaled a desperate, wheezing breath to try and collect himself in his thoughts. He could feel Sam’s hand tensing on his back, ready to pull him back and shove his inhaler into his hands, should he need it once more.

 

“Sam…” Steve murmured, looking up at his friend. His eyes were bloodshot and red rimmed, and wet tracks stained his splotchy cheeks. “I don’t think I can do this, Sam…” He hiccuped, looking down at the floor as he face screwed up in another incoming sob. “I don’t think I can look at him like this.”

 

Sam frowned, rubbing his back again. “I know, man… I know. If you can’t, just tell me. I’ll go in there. I can do it for you...”

 

As they spoke, the coroner slipped into the room, announced only by the sound of the door opening. Both Sam and Steve looked up at the woman, taking stock of her appearance; she was a thin, stern looking woman with a pale face, and her black hair pulled into a bun at the nape of her neck. She wore no make up, and her fingers were cracked and rough from chemicals and hard work she put into examining corpses, day in and day out. If Steve didn’t know any better, he would have said she looked like one of the dead she worked on. “Mr. Barnes… come with me please.”

 

Steve swallowed, a whimper escaping him as he looked up at Sam for help. Sam only returned the look, his eyes telling Steve everything he needed to know: he would do it for him if he just asked.  

 

But that wasn’t Sam’s husband in there. It was Steve’s, and like hell would he be cowardly enough to sit back and wait for his friend to do the work for him. Bucky wouldn’t have sat back if the roles had been reversed. It was time for Steve to be a man and face the reality of his husband’s death, whether he liked it or not. “... no. I’ll go in. Just come with me. Please?” Steve asked, looking into his friend’s eyes with hope.

 

Sam only nodded; he rose from his seat and held his hand out to Steve. “C’mon… let’s go together.”

 

With that promise, Steve and Sam linked arms and crossed the cold tiles to follow the coroner into the ward. The place reeked of formaldehyde and death, and Steve found himself choking on the smell of it. He covered his mouth and nose with the collar of his shirt, fighting the sickening urge to start crying all over again. No, no he wasn’t strong enough to do this. He wasn’t Bucky. Steve couldn’t do this. “Sam… I can’t…” He gasped, looking up at him with watery eyes.

 

But it was too late now. The coroner stopped in front of the refrigeration units,  turning to face the two men. With a careful hand, she opened several compartments, withdrawing the trays inside; each tray housed a body bag and she quickly unzipped each one, showing the two men the bodies they contained.

 

Steve gasped, wrenching away from the sight of the bodies inside them. It was horrible; each man was as pale as death, and each one had had their throats ripped out until all that remained was a gaping wound, shredded vocal chords, and the raw meat of their necks. Their torsos were covered in deep lacerations, the flesh splayed open to show muscle and bone beneath the cuts, and Falsworth had horrible bruising around his neck. It was clear that he had died from a broken neck, unlike the others. But what made it hardest of all to look at, was the level of decay all of them had taken on. In the two weeks since their disappearance, the cold air had done some good in preserving them; but despite that, their bodies had begun to decompose out in the woods, and the tiny nibble marks of wildlife feeding on their carcasses had whittled away at their features, bit by bit.

 

“Oh fuck...” Steve gasped, feeling his stomach lurching at the sight of the gore displayed in front of him. “Oh fuck… oh my God…”

 

“Jesus…” Sam gasped, staring at the bodies in front of them. He, too, looked sickened by the sight of the dead, and he turned away, his dark face paling slightly. “Jesus Christ, one guy did all this?”

 

“We believe so, yes.” The coroner said, nodding as she carefully zipped up the bags in front of them. “But the investigation is still on-going. We just need your confirmation. Are these the men you reported missing?”

 

Steve inhaled, warding off the nausea that had taken over him at the sight of those dead men. He nodded, eyes averted to the floor as he did. “Yeah…” Steve croaked, staring at the cold tiles beneath his feet. “Yeah it’s them…” Fresh tears overtook him as he glanced up at the bodies laid out on the trays in front of him. Five bodies of men he’d once known and called friend… Five…

 

Five? “Wait…” Steve paused, staring at the trays in front of him before his eyes widened. “Five… there are five bodies here,” he said, his tears drying up for just a moment; he looked up at the coroner, his heart racing at his revelation. “Where’s the sixth body?”

 

Silence fell over them; both Sam and the coroner looked up at Steve, their brows cocked in confusion. “I’m sorry?” the coroner asked, turning to face him. “I’m sorry I don’t…”

 

“Where’s the sixth body!?” Steve demanded, his voice hedging on angry; his revelation had opened up something desperate inside him, and their expressions only made him feel more anxious. Now was really not the time to be dicking with his emotions. “There are only five bodies here, there were six men on that camping trip! Don’t fucking tell me they left him behind!”

 

The coroner took a step back, her eyes flicking to Sam for a moment. “I’m sorry Mr. Barnes… they only recovered five bodies at the crime scene.”

 

Steve felt cold all over; his heart raced wildly in his chest as he stared at the slabs in front of him. “Fuck. Open the bags again,” he demanded. When no one moved, he looked up with fire dancing in his eyes. “Open the fucking bags again!”

 

Sam jumped, grabbing Steve’s arm to pull him back; it was clear his sudden change had worried his friend greatly. “Steve, man.. calm down…”

 

Steve threw his arms out, tossing Sam off of him with a growl of frustration. He lunged for the bags, ripping the zippers open in a hurry; with each bag he tore open, his heart picked up pace until he was sure it would gallop right out of his chest. Dugan… Dernier… Falsworth…

 

Steve gasped, ripping the final bag open as he stared down at the five men, really looking at them despite the gore that covered their features. “He’s not here…” he whispered. Tears ran down his cheeks, but he didn’t know if it was from relief, or sheer terror. “Bucky’s not here.”

 

Sam blinked, his face drawing in realization. Steve could see the moment Sam caught on. They had both been so taken aback by the sight of the dead men, neither of them had noticed that the most important man, their whole reason of being here, was not in the fridge. “Jesus, you’re fucking right…”

 

Steve backed away from the bodies, his throat clamping shut as he stared up at the ceiling. Suddenly, he knew exactly what they needed to do; everything else was second to this one, important decision. He turned to the coroner, his eyes wide as he waved his hand at her in a frantic gesture. He felt numb all over, like someone had dumped a bucket of ice-cold water on his head, saturating him with dread and fear. His limbs began to tremble in desperation and his voice wavered in his tight throat as he spoke. “We need a search party… Bucky’s out there. We gotta fuckin’ find him…”

  
Without another word, the coroner nodded, watching the agitated man for a moment before she slipped from the room. Steve panted, inhaling short, hungry breaths into trembling, sickly lungs. His earlier panic had shifted from the ice-cold numbness of worry to outright panic. His limbs went numb, as if tiny pins and needles were pricking his flesh all over, and his vision was beginning to swim. This wasn’t just asthma; Steve was having a full-blown panic attack. Steve felt the world shifting out from beneath his feet and he stumbled; His back connected with the wall behind him, and his legs barely held his weight up. His vision was so compromised, he didn’t see Sam approaching him; Steve jumped when he felt a hand on his chest, holding him upright, before a second hand was shoving into his pocket. After a moment, Steve felt the spout of the inhaler shoved against his lips and he grabbed it, his numb fingers barely able to depress the canister enough to emit a weak mist. Still, his lungs greedily soaked up the medication, and he felt his world stabilizing around him. His breathing slowed, heart gradually returning to a more sedate tempo, and he looked up at his friend. He could see the look of concern etched across Sam’s features; Steve shook his head; they both knew what this could mean. Bucky could still be alive. “Sam… he’s out there. He’s alone. We gotta find him. We gotta go now!”

 

“Steve. Breathe man.” Sam muttered; he kept his hands on his friend’s chest, supporting his sketchy balance long enough for Steve to get a grip on himself. “Take it easy before I have to drive your stupid ass to the hospital. Let’s go talk to the cops. They said they found some of their things at the campsite that hadn’t been destroyed. Maybe they have a clue there.”

 

Steve nodded, shoving right past his concerned friend; he didn’t care if he was being a dick at that moment. He didn’t care that he walked with an unsteady pace, staggering slightly as if he was drunk. All he cared about was finding out what the hell had happened to his husband. He shoved his way through the swinging doors of the morgue, and made a beeline directly for the station above ground. The place was buzzing with activity around him, as most of the cops present had been assigned to the case of the murders that had just been brought in. Fuck it, he didn’t care who he spoke to; he just needed to talk to _someone._

 

His eyes landed on a small flock of men. With resolution, Steve marched up to one of the officers, with shoulders squared, and tugged on his sleeve sharply to get his attention. “I need to see the items found at the campsite you guys are investigating! Now!” he growled by way of greeting; he knew he was getting a lot of perturbed looks from the officers, but he didn’t really fucking care.

 

The officer blinked, taking a step back from the obviously irate man. He held his hands up to Steve, trying to coax him into relaxing a moment. “Sir? Sir, take a moment. What do you mean? How are you connected with this case?”

 

“MY HUSBAND WAS ON THAT TRIP!” Steve shouted, his voice hoarse as he glared the officer down. He felt a small pang of satisfaction to see the man actually shy away from his outburst.  “I need to see those things you brought back from the crime scene, RIGHT FUCKING NOW!”

 

The officer held his hands up, eyes wide in shock; behind him, his partners actually turned on Steve, squaring off with the angry blond as they waited to see what he would do next. Steve didn’t give a flying fuck if they tackled him to the ground; nothing was stopping him from getting some answers. His blood was surging through his veins like lava, making his vision swim again and his ears ring loudly. The world around him seemed to slow down like mud, moving sluggishly around him as he turned to find the forensics team himself. He knew he was in a frenzy, but it didn’t lessen his intent one iota. Steve didn’t care that he looked possibly like a madman, storming about the station. All he cared about was finding out what the hell had happened to his spouse, or he’d die trying. It took him a moment to realize someone was shouting his name in his ear; when he did, Steve whirled on the voice, fist raised angrily to hit whomever was attempting to slow him down.

 

“WHOA, STEVE!” the voice shouted. A figure lurched back from the fist that flew towards his face, and Steve blinked, his vision finally coming back into focus. He’d nearly hit Sam. “Jesus Christ, Steve! Calm down!”

 

He didn’t have time to feel bad for his near-miss. Steve waved his arm, raising his voice to a hysterical shout.“I can’t, Sam! I can’t just stand here, I need to find him NOW!” Steve intoned, his voice wavering violently as he spoke. By now, several cops had surrounded Steve, ready to take him to the floor if he lost control; Steve was pretty sure, he just might. “Sam, he’s out there… _I know he is_! We need t-”

 

“MR. BARNES!” a voice bellowed over the precinct; everyone around them fell silent. Steve looked up from Sam’s face to see a man standing in the doorway of an office. He was a tall, stern looking man with dark skin and piercing eyes. His hands were folded behind his back, and there was a prominent tick in his jaw. “Mr. Barnes… I need to speak to you, right now.”

 

Without thinking, Steve left his friend’s side, marching over to the office he’d been summoned to. Without saying a word, Steve pushed his way into the office, his brow furrowed in determination. He looked up at the officer, crossing his arms over his chest as he stared him down, breathing deeply to bring his heartrate down. Maybe he’d finally get some fucking answers this time. “What is it?” he asked, bluntly. Normally, Steve would have found it in himself to remain calm and civil, especially to a man of the law. But right now, his main priority was finding any clues he could into the disappearance of his husband, and fuck everything else.

 

The officer sighed, lowering his gaze as he allowed Sam to enter the room. He had the look of resignation everyone carried when they had bad news to deliver to someone; and considering Steve’s current state, it was clear the man did not want to have to deal with an angry blond’s wrath. It was a look that had Steve shifting in his spot, anxious to get to the bottom of this, but scared to death of what he might find there. Locking the door behind him, the man crossed the room and sat down at his desk; his hands folded on the flat of his desk, and his eyes met Steve’s head-on.” My name is Fury. Heard you were having a bit of a melt-down out there; bothering my officers? Mr. Barnes, I understand that this is a pressing matter for you, but I can’t have you harassing my men, or I’ll be forced to have you incarcerated for obstruction.

We’re doing the best we can to figure out this crime and get you closure-”

“I don’t care about closure! I want my husband back!” Steve snapped, pressing his knuckles into the desk as he glared the man down. “They didn’t find a body. No body means he’s not dead. That’s all I care about. You need to organize a search party or something, send your men out there and actually _look_ for him. I’ll go with for all I fucking care. I just want Bucky back.”

 

Fury stared up at the irate man; never once did he bat an eye at him. Instead, Fury nodded, reaching into the evidence bag that sat, unnoticed, next to him on the floor. When he withdrew his hand again, he held up a dirty, cracked device and placed the ruined thing on his desk without a word.

 

It was Bucky’s video camera.

 

“Fuck,” Steve hissed, staring at the camera for a moment. He reached out, fingers shaking slightly as he took the camera from the desk. It felt cold and brittle, as if it had been frozen over several times and ready to shatter apart in his fingers. Still, it held together as he carefully handled the device; but when he ran his finger over the power button, the device only flickered for a brief moment, before dying again in his hand. “It’s not working…”

 

“Correct. However, our forensics team did manage to extract the video feed from the internal memory card. We were hoping that whatever may have been captured on the device might offer us some clue as to what happened to your husband.” Fury held up a remote, pointing it towards a small television across the room. The screen flickered to life, showing a video feed of a lively and boisterous campsite. “What we found on there… you’re gonna need to see for yourself…”

 

Steve turned, his brows furrowing as he glanced back at the television. He recognized Bucky’s voice on the recording, and his throat clenched up around a painful lump. Swallowing thickly, Steve sat down on the nearest chair, secretly grateful to be taking the weight off of his unsteady legs. He didn’t know how long he could remain standing before exhaustion and grief had him tumbling to the floor. He felt Sam step up behind him, and he relaxed; at least through all of this, he still had Sam. “C’mon… fucking show us something…” Steve murmured, fighting the prick of tears that threatened to fall down his cheeks as he watched the events recorded unfold before his eyes.

 

Steve leaned forward in his seat as the images stabilized on the screen. He could hear laughter in the background of the video, with Bucky’s voice the most prominent on the recording. Bucky had the camera trained on Falsworth, who sat across the campfire on an overturned log; the man was telling some bawdy story about something or other back home over the pond, and the group at large was laughing rather raucously at the tale he told. Steve didn’t know if he should feel amused by the display on the screen, or bothered that such a happy occasion had ended so horribly. It was clear that beer had been drunk in copious amounts that night, and everyone on the screen was feeling a little tipsy from the amber liquid. As he watched, Steve felt a sense of vertigo as the images suddenly jarred and shifted; Bucky had turned the camera on himself as he winked at the device. Steve could practically feel that gaze boring into him just from the intent written across Bucky’s face, alone. **_“Looks like this is what you missed out on tonight, babe. So much for twisted knickers, eh?”_ ** Bucky cackled, turning the camera back on Falsworth.

 

Falsworth snorted, waving his hand at the camera in his spouse’s grip. **_“Ah bollocks to ya, that story slays every time and you know it, Barnes! Don’t go filling your husband’s head full of shit about me, now!”_**

 

A snort of laughter emanated from the speakers and the images shifted again. Dugan was waving his hand to get the camera’s attention on himself; his cheeks were flushed pink from the large amounts of alcohol in his system. _**“I’ll make sure I apologize to you, Steve, on behalf of the rest of the crew here! Your partner, here, is a very charming man, Steve. Don’t break his back next time you tackle him to the bed, yeah?”**_

 

Bucky’s voice howled in laughter and the camera shook in his grip, shifting wildly across the landscape surrounding them. Steve grimaced a little at the rough camerawork; the erratic images were beginning to make his already throbbing temples pound harder still with an oncoming migraine. He plucked his glasses from his face and rubbed his eyes for a moment, trying to quell some of the ache before it got out of control. He had already cried himself into a skull-crushing headache an hour ago; he didn’t need to make it worse than it already was.

 

But just as he had removed his glasses from his face, there came the sound of rustling over the speakers that overpowered the laughter and talking coming from the television. Steve instantly slapped his glasses back onto his face, staring at the screen; he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he stared intently at the monitor to catch a glimpse of whatever the fuck had caused so much grief over the past two weeks. Everyone on the screen fell silent; the camera captured the unanimous look of concern that crossed the men's’ faces as they cast glances over to the trees. _“ **What was that?”**_ Bucky asked, shifting in his spot; this caused the camera to shake rather violently in his grip. The lens turned in the direction of the noise it had captured; Steve watched as a tiny beam of light flicked on. Bucky had turned the flash on the camera and was aiming it into the trees.

 

Unfortunately, the light was so weak, it did little good in illuminating the trees from that distance; Steve strained to make out anything in the treeline of the forest, and he huffed in frustration. “Do you see anything?” he asked, looking up at Sam for help. He knew his eyes were pretty bad, but they weren’t bad enough to make it impossible to catch whatever it was Bucky was recording. It was strange; the beam of light was fairly prominent on the screen… that is, until it shone into a break in the treeline. Then, it just vanished, as if the darkness had become a tangible thing that swallowed up the little light like an inky black curtain.

 

Sam shook his head, his eyes locked on the screen. He didn’t look at Steve at all, which only made Steve’s apprehension even worse. Sam looked nervous as he watched the screen in front of them; if Sam was nervous, then there definitely was cause to be concerned at this moment in time. Steve swallowed, feeling his throat closing up in anxiety; he licked his lower lip in a nervous action, wetting the dry and cracked flesh, then chewed on his lip as he turned his attention back to the monitor.

 

By then, the voices of Bucky’s group had resumed talking. Jones’ voice rose above the others’, sounding just a bit more collected than everyone else speaking. **“ _It’s probably nothin’,_ ” **he replied. Bucky had turned, aiming the camera at Jones, whom had turned his back to the treeline at that moment. **_“Probably just a ‘coon out here, tryin’ to get our drinks.”_**

 

Dugan laughed. **_“You don’t want this swill, Ranger Rick! Get outta here and bother some other camp!”_**

 

The others joined him, though the laughter was less than convincing this time. It was clear that some of the group was feeling nervous now, Bucky included. Steve hadn’t heard Bucky’s laugh mixed into the group’s, and the camera was beginning to tremble slightly; Steve recognized this. Whenever Bucky would get agitated or anxious, his hands tensed, causing his grip to become quaky. It was certainly a side-effect of his term in the Middle East, and Steve had learned long ago that if Bucky was tense, it was best to listen to his needs and offer him the support he needed to get through a spell like this.

 

Suddenly, the camera angle shifted; Bucky had stood up from his spot and was walking towards the treeline. Steve felt a sudden, choking anxiety rush over him as he saw the treeline inching closer to his husband’s figure. “No.. No what the fuck are you doing?!” Steve hissed, staring at the screen as the trees grew closer. Much to his relief, Bucky stopped, though he was only a few feet from the edge of the woods; the camera was held aloft, recording the enveloping darkness surrounding their campsite. Steve actually felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up as he watched the trees. There was just something so _wrong_ about them. The weather forecast had been clear skies for that weekend, but he couldn't’ see a shred of moonlight anywhere in that area. “Get away from the trees, Bucky..” Steve whispered, as if his plea would be heard by his spouse. His skin was crawling with nervous electricity, making him squirm in his seat and his breathing quicken in his chest. “Get the fuck back to the campsite….”

 

Suddenly Bucky gasped, twisting in his spot; the camera dropped to his side and recorded the foliage in front of him. Steve couldn’t tell, but for a split second, he thought he saw something shift the leaves just in front of Bucky’s feet; Steve jumped, staring at that spot on the camera. “The fuck was that?” He asked; his voice squeaked in his throat, but he never tore his eyes away from that same spot. Neither Sam, nor Officer Fury answered him. Maybe they hadn’t seen it… maybe Steve’s sleep deprivation, and his growing, clawing fears of seeing his spouse’s fate were making him see things. He sort of hoped that was the case.

 

 _“ **Be quiet! It’s still moving around.”**_ Bucky hissed, his voice barely catching on the camera as he whispered to his friends. Clearly, Bucky was beginning to feel the same weight of anxiety; the camera in his hand was beginning to tremble, harder now. _**“If it’s a raccoon, it would have run off by now…”**_

 

 ** _“Oh blimey,”_** Falsworth sighed; feet shifting on the dirt behind Bucky could be heard, followed by the sound of footsteps. **“ _I’m tellin’ ya, Buck. It’s just an animal. Want me to prove it to you?”_** The sound of his footsteps grew larger, and the downturned camera caught sight of Falsworth’s boots entering the frame. _**“Gimme a torch, Buck.”**_

 

Bucky hesitated for a moment before heaving an audible sigh. Steve watched as the camera shifted, the clatter of plastic being passed from one hand to the other rattling the speakers in a sharp crackle; Bucky then raised the camera in his left hand, and the recording showed his right hand passing Falsworth his flashlight. The others stopped talking off-frame as they all watched Falsworth slip into the trees to investigate the noise. He vanished into the dark, completely out of sight, and the woods fell silent around them. Steve shook his head, inhaling a deep, slow breath to try and slow his racing heart. “What the hell is he doing?” Steve asked out loud, shaking his head. Even more, the feeling of “not right” was making his blood turn to ice in his veins. He wanted to turn this recording off. He didn’t want to see what happened next. But his curiosity to know exactly what had befallen his husband kept him rooted to the spot, his eyes boring into the screen as he wrung his hands together, hard enough to turn the skin between his fingers red and raw with friction.

 

No one in the room breathed. No one on the recording moved.  Minutes ticked by and the only sounds that could be heard were the gentle lull of crickets in the distance, and the occasional bullfrog at the nearby stream. Bucky cleared his throat nervously, twisting to look back at his friends. **_“We should check on him…”_** he whispered; Steve felt a pang of sympathy at the nervous tone that colored his husband’s voice. He didn’t blame Bucky for being nervous; Steve felt like he was going to crawl right out of his skin in fear, and he was sitting safely in a police station! He couldn’t imagine how scared Bucky must have been feeling as he recorded the events that night.

 

 ** _“Hey, man, he’s probably just dickin’ around!”_** Jones’s voice replied, though it had lost some of its earlier confidence. **_“HEY FALSY! WHERE’D YOU GO?!”_**

 

No reply came. Steve very nearly got right out of his chair and left the room; he felt jittery as he looked away from the screen for a moment to collect himself. But as he turned away, he felt Sam’s hand on his shoulder again, grounding him for the time being. Inhaling slowly, Steve staved off the tension in his lungs threatening to choke him. He gave Sam a grateful nod before looking back at the screen. He nervously chewed his thumbnail, worrying the nail between his front teeth as he bounced his heel on the floor, repeatedly. He almost wanted something to happen, just so that he had good reason to feel this terrified. If it turned out to be a raccoon, Steve was going to hate himself for nearly pissing the seat in fright.

 

 ** _“FALSWORTH!”_** Bucky shouted, making Steve jump in his seat with a yelp. The camera’s lens had been raised, peering steadily into the treeline; still the little beam of light was swallowed up by the crushing blackness, as if their campsite had been consumed by a mire. Bucky inched closer to the trees, the sound of his boots crunching the twigs and leaves beneath his feet taking over the speakers of the television; the further into the treeline Bucky went, the darker the entire image became, until the only light was that fucking little camera flash as it illuminated little dust motes in it’s path.

 

“Bucky get the fuck outta there!” Steve said, his voice quaking loudly as he stared in horror at the screen. The anxiety he’d managed to stifle came back with a fierce vengeance, making him shiver in his seat. He scooted closer to the edge of his chair as he watched his husband wander deeper into the woods until he was completely surrounded by thick trees. “No, no, no… get outta there, baby, get OUTTA THERE!” he shouted, shaking his head viciously; the abrupt action caused him to bite his lip, drawing blood into his mouth.

 

Before he could react, a voice shouted from the speakers, making Bucky scream. The loud noise caused Steve to jump in his seat again, and he very nearly fell out of the chair as he cried out, jerking his head away from the television. He did not want to see his husband get attacked, no matter how badly he needed to see his spouse’s fate. He kept his eyes averted as he listened for the sickening squash of blood or the crack of bones breaking; his mind ran rampant with the possibilities of what death sounded like. Was it fast? Was it slow? Could he actually _hear_ the moment his husband’s life was taken? Steve shivered, whimpering as tears welled up in his eyes, preparing him for the inevitable. Only nothing happened; all he heard was the sound of Falsworth laughing hysterically, muffling the sounds of Bucky cursing loudly. Steve peeked at the screen in time to see the camera pan back onto Falsworth; he was standing behind Bucky in the thickest part of the trees, and he was supporting his weight on his knees as he laughed himself breathless. **_“Jesus, fuck! That wasn’t funny!”_ ** Bucky snarled; a fist flew across the camera, punching Falsworth in the shoulder. Steve actually agreed with Bucky’s reaction. If he hadn’t seen Falsworth’s body just a few minutes ago, he would have wanted to throttle him for that scare, too.

 

 ** _“Ah lighten up, Bucky!”_** Falsworth grinned, holding his hand up to shield his eyes from the little light on the camera. **_“It was just a joke, mate! No need to get all worked up!”_**

 

Steve watched, feeling his heart rate coming down from that terrifying moment as he heard Bucky begin to splutter angrily at him, ready to scream himself hoarse at Falsworth for scaring him so badly. But just as the words came, they died out, and the camera went deathly still. Bucky’s breathing slowed for a moment and the camera’s angle changed just slightly; it’s focused moved from Falsworth’s face, to a point just beyond his head, aiming directly into the dark forest behind him. Steve watched, blinking as he tried to make out what he was seeing. It took him a moment before he realized that what he was looking at, wasn’t the shadow cast from a tree; there was someone standing behind Falsworth. Instantly, his heart rammed against the bones of his ribcage, and he began to breath heavily as he stared at the hulking, overpowering shadow of a being approaching the two of them, growing larger by the second. “Fuck… fuck..” Steve whispered around the terror closing his throat up. He inhaled sharply, eyes widening until they practically bulged from his head. “Get outta there.. get the fuck outta there…”

 

 ** _“Bucky… Buck.”_** Falsworth repeated, his laughter dying out. Steve watched as the Englishman’s face morphed from laughter, to worry. The tension in the police station grew thicker as Steve watched Falsworth shift uncomfortably, clearly confused by the look Bucky was giving him. Steve could only imagine the look of sheer terror that crossed Bucky’s face; whatever he was seeing, he had a much clearer shot of it than the camera offered. Falsworth moved to speak, then clamped his mouth shut; it took him a moment to realize that Bucky was staring at something… something over his shoulder. **_“... Hey. What is it?”_**

 

Bucky didn’t answer him. Instead, the camera began to shake in his hand, and Bucky took a step back. His breathing had grown quicker over the speakers, shivering in his lungs in terrified little gasps. **_“Falsworth...”_** his voice came, small and frightened. Steve swallowed thickly, his anxiety turning into horror. The shadow behind Falsworth stopped, hovering just behind his shoulder and a new sound echoed into the room. Growling emanated from the television, the deep and ominous sound colored with clicking, rattling noises; it came directly from the hulking, black mass that loomed above Falsworth. As hard as Steve tried to look at it, to make out the man’s face or anything descriptive about him, he couldn’t. The camera was shaking too hard to focus properly and the lens whirred loudly as the camera worked to stabilize the image it captured.

 

Steve watched as Falsworth turned on his heel, slowly, and looked up at the figure behind him. Time froze; Steve felt as if his heart was going to crawl up his throat and he whimpered, too frightened to tear his gaze away from the screen. “Bucky… run…” he whispered, panicked and unable to utter anything louder than that.  

 

 ** _“What the-”_** Falsworth started, his voice dropping from confused, to terrified. Whatever else he had to say, would never be heard again.

 

Steve watched in horror as Falsworth suddenly jerked forward, as if he’d been grabbed and yanked into the darkness around them; his scream of terror was almost immediately cut off, as if something had wrapped around his throat and clutched him tightly. Steve watched, helpless to act, as he saw the trees before Bucky shuddering violently, leaves rustling as Falsworth struggled to break free just beyond the sight of the camera. His screams were choked and gagged, horrified yelps echoing across the forest, before they were suddenly silenced. A gruesome squelch overtook the man’s voice, followed by the snapping of bones; a spray of blood shot out from the trees, dousing the camera lens in a dark red shower. The trees rattled, just before Falsworth was thrown with shocking force from the treeline into the clearing; the man’s front was doused in a torrent of dark red blood as his limp figure rag-dolled out of the frame.

 

Steve couldn’t move. He watched, frozen in his chair as the camera suddenly dropped down, fixating on Bucky’s front; his clothing was speckled in Falsworth’s blood, and his husband’s frantic, breath rushed out in ragged gasps, short and panicked as Bucky backed away from the attack. Steve felt adrenaline kicking in as he stared at his husband’s bloody clothing, the desperate rise and fall of his chest, and one thought came to Steve’s mind: run. “Bucky RUN!” he screamed at the screen in front of him, tears streaming down his face in hot tracks.

 

Cries of terror echoed from the campsite. Whirling away, Bucky bolted for the clearing, shrieking at the top of his lungs as he ran from the thing that had grabbed Falsworth and attacked him without a second thought. The camera shook wildly in his fist, and the images became blurred and unfocused, further adding to the fear Steve felt coursing through his veins like livewire. **_“RUN! RUN!”_** he shouted, bursting through the treeline towards his friends. He came to a halt, freezing in his spot, and Steve shouted at the screen, begging Bucky to lift the camera up, capture what he was seeing.

 

The camera remained down at his side, focused on the dirty, bloody ground at his feet. Bucky cried out at the sight of the campgrounds, and he backed away, stumbling over his feet. The camera angle changed, focusing on Falsworth’s body; he lay next to the fire, twitching violently as he bled out from deep lacerations on his body; Steve could see the loops of his intestines hanging out from gaping holes in his torso, and his throat had been torn clean out, spurting almost black blood into the fire. Suddenly the camera dropped to the ground, crashing against the dirt hard enough to crack the lens; yet it still continued to record, as it was dragged across the earth. Bucky had tripped and fallen backwards, and the sight of his feet scrambling against the dirt could be seen at the edge of the frame. Bucky’s shouting had gone hoarse, whimpers of distress that made Steve’s chest constrict until he could barely breathe.

 

Steve snagged his inhaler from his pocket, shoving the spout into his cracked lips once again as he inhaled desperately; his vision had begun to go black at the edges, as he watched the cracked camera lens capture the sight of feet running back and forth over the site. One by one, Steve watched as Bucky’s friends were picked off by the unseen assailant; they shouted for Bucky, begging for help before each voice was silenced in wet, sloppy, splattering sounds. Blood sprayed across the campsite as each voice fell silent. Steve watched as Dugan was thrown across the clearing, landing just a few feet away from Bucky. Steve saw the man’s eyes, glazed and unfocused as he stared at his friend. Blood pooled beneath his torn throat, the fibers of his muscles visible in the camera’s eye. Dugan twitched, choked wetly on blood, and went still. Steve gagged, looking down at his lap as he clapped his hand over his mouth. He thought he was going to be sick.

 

Then, it just stopped. Silence enveloped the clearing around Bucky; his friends…  they were all dead. And that thing… it was standing at the far side of the campsite, hidden in shadow and staring… Right. At. Bucky.

 

 ** _“Oh my God… OH MY GOD OH MY GOD!”_** he wailed, backing away from the site before he scrambled to his feet. The lens cracked further as he put pressure on the device; and yet it still continued to record. The device swung wildly in his palm, capturing the sights of his dead friends in brief flashes. There was flesh and severed meat everywhere... the tents were soaked in blood… a shoe lay discarded in the fire. The silence around him was so overwhelming…

 

And yet, Steve knew it wasn’t over. That figure… whoever it was, it was still there. And now it wanted Bucky.

 

“FUCKING RUN!” Steve begged, his hands slamming into fists against the arms of the chair. He wanted to grab Bucky, drag him right out of the screen and back into his arms. He shifted; adrenaline made his vision fuzzy and dark. He could feel the blood draining from his face as he stared at the screen. Sweat ran down his temples, and violent shivers wracked his body as he watched his husband’s terror from the safety of the other side of a camera.

 

Bucky ran; he ran for his life, sprinting into the trees away from the campsite. The camera had finally lost complete focus as he bolted into the trees; the speakers crackled with the sounds of twigs and leaves whipping Bucky as he ran. For a brief moment, the camera turned up, focusing on Bucky’s face as he ran. He was as pale as a ghost, and sharp cuts adorned his cheeks, his jaw, the soft skin under his left eye, until it was impossible to tell whose blood he had on his face. **_“Fuck... fuck, FUCK!”_ ** he shouted, looking over his shoulder. The darkness was so overwhelming it drowned out the rest of the camera’s images, until the television was nothing but a black screen, accented with the staccato of crying, leaves, and boots pounding the earthen ground beneath him. What little light the camera shone danced at the edges of the screen and caught flashes of the trees. Steve could see that they were moving. It was coming. It was chasing him!

 

 _“ **FUCK!”**_ Bucky shouted. Suddenly, the camera went airborne as Bucky grunted. Steve could hear his spouse’s body hit the ground; the camera rolled down an embankment, landing at the bottom of a ditch with the lens facing up. Steve could barely make out the sight of his partner’s body rolling down the hill after the camera before landing heavily on a patch of rocks. Bucky cried out in pain, going still for a moment.

 

“NO! No get up, getupgetupGETUP!!!” Steve breathed; he was openly crying now as he watched the images begin to stabilize again. With mild relief, he saw his husband struggle to his feet, and his face came into focus as he grabbed the camera. Bucky’s face was a mess of blood, bruises and cuts, his nose streaming red blood from where he’d hit the ground, and his hair sticky at the temple with the dark black wetness.

 

His relief was short-lived. As Bucky turned, running down the ditch towards possible escape, Steve felt his heart sink into the pit of his stomach; the camera was focused on the edge of the ditch. It was the end of the line; that ditch lead to nothing but a sheer rock wall just in front of him.

 

 ** _“No… no!”_** Bucky shouted, slamming his fist in a fit of desperation, into the rocks in front of him before he spun wildly, looking for anyway he could crawl out of the ditch. The nearest ledge, though, was well over twenty feet above him, and he wailed, sobbing openly as he backed away from the wall.

 

In the distance, the sound of a tree falling echoed across the woods in a thunderous crash. He whirled, looking up into the dark trees around him as he froze in his spot. **“ _No… no… no…”_** Bucky whimpered, crying into the darkness as he froze in his spot, unable to move another step. The figure was close by… Steve could hear that same, rattling growl inching closer and closer as it closed in on Bucky, ready to tear him to shreds.

 

Steve sobbed, covering his face with his hands as he rocked in his spot. Now he understood why the police had only recovered five bodies at the site; Bucky had died in that God-forsaken ditch, alone in the dark. They weren’t going to find his body…

 

Suddenly, the images on the screen shifted from pitch black, to a bright green. Bucky had turned the camera on Night Vision, and the scene in front of him was suddenly illuminated as bright as day. Now, Steve could clearly make out the woods around him. The trees… they were moving. That thing was closing in on him, just barely a hundred feet away. Suddenly Bucky turned, spotting the faint shadow of an overturned tree to his left. It offered some sort of shelter, but it was clearly not enough to hide Bucky for long. It took Steve’s rattled mind a moment to understand what Bucky was doing; the shallow hiding spot with no chance of escape, and the camera suddenly switched to Night Vision. Steve knew what Bucky was doing; he was taking his last chance to say goodbye.

 

“Bucky, what are you doing?!” Steve gasped, watching as he slid across the mossy ditch bottom, ducking down beneath the tree and its mossy curtain. Bucky lay down on his belly, holding his breath for a moment as he listened to the woods around him. The growling, rattling breathing was coming closer, filling the entire room with its haunting roar. The camera shifted violently. Bucky had turned the camera on himself; he held the device in front of his bloody, tear streaked face, staring into the lens as he sobbed openly. The camera, cracked lens and all, captured every single moment of it.

 

 ** _“I’m gonna die…”_** he whispered, staring into the camera. Above him, the log thumped, as a heavy weight dropped down onto it. He whimpered, fresh tears running down his face as he stared at the camera as it recorded him. _**“I dunno what to do… I’m gonna die. My friends are dead.. I dunno what’s going on. Something is here… something… is… HERE! Don’t come out here. Fuck don’t come out here, please! “**_

 

Another thump, this time thunderously loud, and so heavy, Steve could hear the log cracking above him. Bucky sobbed, his fingers tightening around the camera in his hands until the plastic creaked under his grip. **_“If someone finds this camera, give it back to Steve Barnes, 2409 Willow Point Drive, Warwick, New York. Give it to him, please!”_**

 

A deep roar followed his plea, echoing into the woods; it was so loud, Steve could feel the air vibrating around him. He sobbed openly, watching as Bucky wept, begging to be spared from death. The camera shook in his grip; the pictures became fuzzy as the broken camera struggled to focus on his face. Suddenly, the log ripped in half behind Bucky, the cracking of moldy wood splintering around him. Bucky flinched, looking into the camera. **_“I love you Stevie! Oh my god, I love you!”_** he cried, throwing dignity to the wind. He curled in on himself in the dark; tears and blood mixed on his face, dripping to his lips as he wept openly. His nose ran with blood and water, dribbling down his face as he shook his head viciously, begging the figure to just leave him alone, let him _LIVE!_ **“ _Help.. help me, Steve… STEVIE HELP ME!!!”_** Bucky pleaded, his reddened eyes locking with the camera.

 

Then came a loud ‘thud!’, shaking the log above Bucky. He went silent, his sobs choked off as he stared at the camera. **“ _... it’s over me… oh fuck, it’s fucking right… above me…”_** he whispered, as if he spoke directly Steve at that moment. Bucky shivered, whimpering like a terrified child into the night as he looked one last time into the camera in his shaking hands.

 

Time froze, just for a brief moment. Bucky shivered, silently repeating his plea into the night. ** _“Oh fuck, God help me, please, PLEASE, fuck I just wanna go home… I’ll never fucking come out here again, just PLEASE get me outta here!”_** The pleas that left him were pitiful, heartbreaking, and honest. The look of sheer terror that filled his blue eyes was almost sickening to look at, and Steve leaned forward in his seat, staring at his husband’s face for the last time as he begged to wake up from this nightmare. **_“Help… help me, Stevie... I don’t wanna die…”_**

 

Steve felt his heart stop in his chest, his red eyes boring into the screen as he watched his husband weeping to live, begging _him_ to rescue him. His fingers dug into the arms of the chair as he watched the scene unfold, watched as Bucky shivered, quaked with grief, ready to throw up onto the grassy forest ground beneath him as his body locked up, unable to move, unable to run. Nothing moved for a brief moment in time, frozen in place as Steve witnessed his husband’s final moments played out in visceral, raw pain.

 

The camera suddenly jerked, making Steve shout into the room as he lunged back from the television. He watched as Bucky shrieked as an unseen force suddenly grabbed him, dragging him backwards over the rocky, mossy earth beneath him. Bucky dropped the camera, clawing desperately at the earth beneath him until his fingernails broke, cracked and shattered from his fingers in spurts of red. He fought desperately to break free as he was pulled into the deep, dark of the forest. The camera flickered, slowly dying out as it recorded Bucky’s retreating figure. Long after his image disappeared from the camera, long after the camera stopped recording its video, Steve could hear Bucky screaming into the night, his voice echoing over the forest as he faded away, growing more distant as the camera finally died, cutting to white static across the screen.

 

After a moment, the television screen cut to black; Steve barely made out the sound of the television remote being placed back down onto the wood of the desk. He didn’t care to look back; all he cared about was the absolutely horrendous sight he’d just witnessed, watching his husband being taken away into the night like prey, to be slaughtered, tormented, or vanish without a trace. He didn’t know which option was worse. Whoever had done this, had been out for blood, and showed no mercy. Who the fuck was it? Someone crazy enough to follow Bucky into the woods and drag him off into God knows where, that’s fucking who. “Oh my God…” he whimpered, dropping his glasses into his lap and crying into his palms as he replayed those moments again and again in his mind. He wanted to vomit. He wanted to curl up in a ball and die of a broken heart. He didn’t know what he wanted; all he knew in life had just been whisked away to God only knew what sort of fate Bucky had met in the woods.

 

Fury sighed, standing from his chair and walking around the desk. “We’re going to have a BOLO out for any suspicious characters in that area. It’s too bad he didn’t get a good shot of the guy’s face. Would have made this a hell of a lot easier on us…”

 

Steve sniffed and scrubbed the back of his hand across his nose to dry the water that had coursed down his upper lip. He inhaled sharply as a choked wail bubbled up his throat threatening to overtake him. He felt Sam return his hand to his back and he jerked away from his touch with a hiss of contempt; the last thing he deserved was comfort, when Bucky had none in his final moments at the camp. He didn’t care how he looked, frantic and sobbing in front of this man. He only had one thought in his mind: bring Bucky home at all costs. “We n-need to look for Bucky!” he choked out, his voice cracking halfway through as a fresh bout overtook him, rattling his limbs until he was nothing but a quivering mess in front of Fury. “He... he’s p-probably out there, hurt and alone… He’s fucking OUT THERE ALONE! We can’t just sit here, d-doing nothing!”

 

The unwanted hand returned to his back. Steve shrugged away from his touch, not bothering to grace Sam with another glance. “Steve…” Sam sighed, sounding resigned and tired from the ordeal they had both been through that day. “Man... for all we know, he could be dead. That guy didn’t hesitate to kill an entire camp of ex-soldiers. Why do you think he’d spare one guy?”

 

Steve froze and his breath caught in his chest. Sam was _actually_ suggesting that Steve let it go and leave Bucky, dead or alive, out in those woods? Like he didn’t matter? He was just going to resign Bucky to a fate worse than death, just like that? Steve looked up at his friend, betrayal painted across his features and turning his fair face into a mask of ugly contempt. “... I’m not giving up.” he hissed, steeling his voice as he stood from his chair. “No body… not dead. I don’t fucking care, Sam.” Seething angrily, Steve turned on the officer, his shoulders trembling with his wrath.

 

They all might have wanted to sign Bucky away to death without a second thought, but there was no way Steve was doing the same. Even if he was the only person out there looking for Bucky, he would do it, and he would never give up. “I’m not stopping, sir… Bucky’s out there. I know he is… and I won’t stop until I bring him home.  He’d do the same for me.” Steve grabbed his jacket from the chair, shrugging into it with minor struggle. Once he had managed to tug his coat on, he turned for the door, pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose from where they fell. “I’m looking for Bucky… with or without your help.I don’t care how long it takes me to find him. I’m gonna find him. And I’m gonna bring him home.”

 

**FIVE YEARS LATER…**

 

The bulletin board in front of him had been filled to the brim long ago; newspaper articles, scraps of paper, John Doe reports from the Tri-state area for the past two years, and all of them scattered in seemingly no pattern whatsoever. But Steve understood this mess; he knew what he was looking for. He had spent five years working on this, already.

 

He glanced up at the clock on the far wall, his tired eyes straining to read the numbers. 3:07 am stood stark and cold against the white backdrop of the clock face. He sighed, plucking his glasses from the bridge of his nose and rubbing his eyes; he stifled a yawn and dropped his glasses back in place before turning his attention back to the laptop in front of him. Tiredly, Steve scrubbed his fingers on his jaw, feeling the unruly touch of an unkempt beard that sat on his rough skin, begging to be trimmed. He didn’t care enough to give grooming a second thought.

 

Instead, he turned his attention to his most current ‘Missing Persons’ article on the bright laptop screen. There had been a string of John Doe mentions in Maine the past couple of days, but most of them didn’t fit Bucky’s description. Not enough, at least, to warrant driving all the way up there to check.

 

The government had long since declared Bucky deceased, allowing Steve to receive his pension on a monthly basis. It wasn’t a lot, but insurance had paid off the house they’d just purchased not long before Bucky’s disappearance, and the income he did receive from the ARMY paid his bills enough to get him by. Steve couldn’t complain really; he hadn’t worked a day in five years since then. Instead, he spent all of his time searching desperately for the husband he lost and vowed to get back no matter the costs, until it became an unhealthy obsession he couldn’t let go of.

 

Steve knew he was worrying his friends. They’d voiced their concerns to him on multiple occasions, and done everything they could, underhanded or not, to break Steve from this cycle before it killed him. Natasha had attempted to hook Steve up with countless dates over the course of those five years; after her last attempt Steve had snapped, screaming at her that he wasn’t going to date anyone until he found out what happened to Bucky. Until he had a body in front of him, he was still married and he would remain faithful to Bucky until he came home, dead or alive.

 

Tony and Clint hadn’t fared much better. They both did their best to break Steve out of his shell, get him to go out and at least have some sort of fun, with little results. “ _Looking for a dead man for five years isn’t fun, man. You need to get out, have a few drinks, enjoy life!”_ Tony had said, frustrated with Steve’s obstinate refusal to quit this search for even a few moments. Steve had shut down that conversation fast, with a swift right hook to his friend’s jaw.

 

Steve knew he was being ungrateful towards them all; they only wanted what was best for him, and he knew that this search was wearing him thin. Since Bucky’s disappearance, he had developed a terrible temper, he barely ate, and he’d more often than once forgotten to fill his asthma medication, leaving him gasping on the floor for air as he tried to work his way through countless attacks. One of those attacks had actually landed him in the emergency room; he hadn’t stayed the night, intent on resuming his search despite his sickly pallor and weak limbs.

 

The only person that seemed to support Steve on this search, was Sam. That man had done everything he could to help Steve find the closure he needed in the wake of Bucky’s disappearance. When even the tiniest hint of a lead would be unearthed, they both would pack up a bag and take off in pursuit of it, hoping beyond hope that this would finally be the last clue they needed to end this madness once and for all. This went on for the entirety of those five years.

 

Now… now Steve was beginning to lose hope. After all this time, he was starting to think that perhaps his other friends were right. It had been five years. If Bucky was hurt, he was probably dead by now. If he’d just up and disappeared, maybe he didn’t want to be found… Steve swallowed thickly, trying to push that thought from his mind. More often than not, Steve had guiltily believed that that had been the case, and it broke his heart all over again, until he was screaming into the pillows, punching walls, furious that that would even be a remote possibility. It gutted him to think that maybe this had been some elaborate trick on Bucky’s part to end his marriage with Steve. It didn’t make sense, not with the five bodies buried in the nearest cemetery, but then again nothing made sense to Steve anymore. Instead, he shook that thought once again from his mind, staring down at his lap as he tried to ward off a wave of tears as they welled up in his eyes.

 

God, he was tired… he needed to get some sleep.

 

A soft whine came from his right. Steve looked down, and his eyes landed on the dour blue eyes of Sarge. The pup had grown into a strong adult, with striking markings on his fur, and a cheerful personality that saved Steve’s sanity on countless occasions. Sarge was the last tie Steve had to Bucky; his spouse had picked the puppy out himself and brought him home for Steve as a housewarming gift, and the two of them had fallen in love with the baby right away. Sarge had gotten Steve through so many nights of this confusion and heartache since his disappearance, and Steve couldn’t have been more grateful for the dog. Smiling sadly, Steve reached out and ran his hand over the dog’s head sadly, relishing the feel of his velvety fur beneath his palm. “Hey boy…” he muttered.

 

Sarge wagged his tail happily, scooting close and resting his head on Steve’s lap. A pink tongue laved out, licking Steve’s wrist as Sarge whined and whined; those blue eyes never left Steve’s face. “Hey… hey I know boy. I know. C’mon… lemme go get you some food, I’m sorry... I guess I forgot to feed you tonight.”

 

Standing from his chair, Steve patted his thigh to get the dog to heel-up to him. Sarge yapped and bounded up to his master’s side, licking his hand desperately as he waited for food to come. The two walked side by side into the kitchen, where Steve grabbed a can of food from the cupboard, and popped the top off with a flick of his wrist. “Here you go, boy,” he said, dropping down to his knee as he scooped the food into his pet’s bowl. He watched with a barely-there smile as Sarge lunged for the bowl, lapping at the chunky mess inside it with hunger. The faint memory of the recorded deaths resonated in his skull as he listened to the messy slop of Sarge’s tongue lapping up the food. He swallowed and stifled that memory right away, lest it turn his already weak stomach once more.

 

Steve knelt next to the dog, trying to muster up the strength to get to his feet and actually go to bed this time. He’d already spent the last few nights pouring over his police files into the wee hours of the morning, and the strain was beginning to take a toll on him. He rubbed his burning eyes again, letting his fingers drag down to his jaw to feel the wiry strands of his messy beard. He’d long since stopped caring for himself; his previous, neatly styled facial hair had grown into a thick beard on his jaw, and his blond hair had begun to grow long, in desperate need of a cut. Vaguely Steve thought about taking a pair of shears to his beard and hair, if nothing else but to make himself look slightly more presentable; but that required far more effort than he was willing to put in at this point. Shaking his head, Steve finally let a yawn escape him as he got to his feet. He wasn’t getting anywhere else on his search that night, it seemed.

 

He climbed the stairs, eyes downcast; he played over the day’s events with a sense of failure. He had literally spent 14 hours sitting in front of the computer, tracking down any missing person’s case that had been resolved on the East coast the entire time, and still he was nowhere close to finding his lost husband.

 

Dejected, Steve reached the top of the staircase and immediately locked himself into the bedroom. He leaned his shoulder against the door for a moment to steady his tired legs before he found the strength to wander over to the bedside; with aborted motions, he kicked off his shoes and collapsed into the bed with a groan. He barely had enough energy to pluck his glasses from his face and plug his cell phone into the cord at the side of his bed. He thought about brushing his teeth… then again, he hadn’t eaten much that day, to begin with. They were probably clean enough.

 

His eyes ghosted over to the picture on the side table, and he stared at it for a moment. In the picture was Bucky and himself, their arms wrapped around each other; they were dressed in their wedding suits, and beaming at the camera. He remembered that moment vividly. It had been near the end of the reception, and they were both a little tipsy from the wine, but no less excited and happy that they’d finally tied the knot. Steve felt his emotions welling up in his chest again and he swallowed, turning over on his back to stare at the ceiling. “God, just…” he whispered, biting his lip. “If he’s gone, just fuckin’ tell me already! I need to know what happened to him... please.”

 

Steve felt hot tears making tracks down his face as he stared at the ceiling, begging the Heavens to give him a sign. He fell asleep, still fully clothed, with that same litany on his lips. What he hadn’t noticed was that he had also fallen asleep with the phone laying face down on his bed. If he had, he would have seen his phone flash with a news report about a new John Doe that had been brought into the very same police station he’d gone to, five years ago…

 

~*~

 

**Two hours ago…**

 

It was late at night by the time the squad car had pulled up to the side of the road pertaining to the incident reports they had been given. Once the car had come to a stop, the officers inside clambered out, wrapping themselves in thick coats to ward off the cold December air that enveloped them so thoroughly. They were just a couple of young cops, fresh out of the Academy and sent on their first job; reports had come in of people witnessing some suspicious activity in the woods, just north of Copake, New York and both Mack and Hunter had been the unlucky schmucks to draw short straws and land that incident on a freezing cold, Friday night. Honestly, they had expected some big case to be their first job on the force, and investigating a disturbance claim in some backwoods area was not ideal to their expectations.

 

Still, they went without complaint, taking to the woods with flashlights and radios in hand, just in case they needed to call for backup. Together, the two combed the trees as they looked for any suspicious characters nearby, hoping to put an end to this stupid search long before they both froze out in the moonlit woods.

 

“Why are we worrying about calling for backup?” Hunter, looking at his companion with a sigh. “It’s probably just a coupla kids dickin’ around in the woods. We call their mum’s and send them on their way home.”

 

“Quit yer complainin’ and just help me look around this area. The sooner we get done, the sooner we can go back. It’s freezin’ out here!” Mack retorted, glaring back at his partner. They had already been out in the woods for a couple of hours at that point, and snow was beginning to fall around them. “Ah Christ, it’s snowin’...” he added, looking up at the skies through the thick cover of trees.

 

Both officers grumbled as they marched through the trees, trying to find the source of the disturbance. So far, nothing seemed out of the ordinary and they were beginning to grow impatient as the moments ticked by in frigid, lazy succession.

 

“They probably already bloody left, Mack! let’s just go back to the station and tell them we didn’t find anything!” Hunter groused, crossing his arms over his chest.

 

“Look, Hunter, we gotta get this right the first time, or we’re gonna be desk-jockeying forever!” his companion replied, turning slowly in his spot to scan the trees. Only when he had made almost a complete circle of the clearing, the beam of his flashlight landed on something shiny in the distance. “What’s that?” he muttered, making his way over. The closer he got, the more he realized he was looking at his flashlight’s reflection in a window. “It’s a cabin…”

 

“Cabin? I thought they tore all of them down when they zoned this area for the park.” Hunter replied, following his partner into the trees. Sure enough, they had found a cabin in the woods, and the place looked like it was getting ready to fall apart. “Shit, I don’t think we should go in there.”

 

“C’mon, Hunter.” Mack replied, looking over his shoulder. “Just a quick look. Then we can say we searched everywhere and head back.”

 

With that in agreement, both men stepped into the cabin, relishing the shelter from the cold around them. The place was decrepit and old, and it reeked of old, rotting wood and standing water. Mack and Hunter both covered their noses from the stench as they began to scan the cabin for any signs of life.

 

About ten minutes into their search, Hunter sighed, throwing his hands up. “Mack, there isn’t anyone here. Let’s just get the fuck outta here and head back, alright?”

 

Mack sighed, lowering his flashlight. “Yeah, looks like it. Alright… we’ll clock it, say we didn’t find nothin’. C’mon.” He turned to leave the room, his eyes landing on a small hatch door in the far corner of the room’s floor, idly. But as he turned, something caught his attention, and he went still. “... you hear that?” he asked, looking up at Hunter to see if he had heard it too.

 

Hunter turned, looking at his partner for a moment before he nodded. It sounded like a voice  and it was speaking in low, hurried murmurs. “.. yeah I hear it. Where’s it coming from?”

 

The two men stopped speaking, listening intently into the quiet room. Sure enough, the sound of a voice speaking in frightened, hushed tones emanated from the floorboards. “Sounds like it’s comin’ from that hatch over there…” Mack murmured, crossing the room. The closer he got to the hatch, the louder the voice became. “Yeah. it’s comin’ from down there…”

 

“Shit, you’re not going down there are you?!” Hunter asked, his eyes widening as he stared at the hatch. The voice was definitely prominent now, and the tone sent chills running up and down both the officers’ spines.

 

“Gotta look, Hunter… what if someone got trapped down there?” Mack replied. Reaching for the hatch, he yanked the wooden paneling open. Under the hatch door,  a deep, dark pit opened up to them; Mack was pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to see two feet in front of him if he went down there without his flashlight. “HEY!” he shouted into the pit. “ANYONE THERE! POLICE, WE’RE COMIN’ DOWN!”

 

“How the fuck are you gonna get down there, there’s no ladder!” Hunter replied, staring into the darkened pit; their flashlights cast tiny beams of light into what appeared to be the cellar of the cabin. The floor was covered in a thick layer of dirt and grime, and the occasional dark, suspicious spot that made them both shiver. If they didn’t know any better, they would have guessed it was spots of blood.  “That’s gotta be at least a 15 foot drop, mate.”

 

“I saw storm doors outside when we were walkin’ towards the cabin. Let’s go in that way.”

 

With that decided, the two exited the cabin, walking around to the side of the building. The storm doors were just as old as the rest of the cabin, and the chains that held it shut were thick and covered in layers of rust. An uneasy feeling fell over Mack as he stared at the chains. “Shit… whoever’s down there’s been down there a long ass time,” he said, looking around. “Go see if there’s a pair of cutters in the shed.” he added, pointing for the shed just across the yard.

 

Hunter nodded, striding across the snowy grass for the shed. It was nearly bare inside, save for a few old tools; however he did return a few moments later, holding a large pair of wire cutters, almost as old as the house. “Here. I’m gonna radio in that we found something; see if we can get some sort of ambulance out here.”

 

Mack nodded, taking the wire cutters. The links of the chain were so old, they came apart easily, falling to the ground as he dropped the cutters next to them. Then, with a heavy creak of wood, he opened the storm doors, peering into the dark. “Holy shit…” he coughed, covering his mouth and nose. “It reeks to high fuckin’ Hell… the fuck is down there?”

 

Hunter didn’t answer, too busy radioing into the dispatcher for assistance. Mack sighed, grabbing his torch and aiming the beam into the basement; descending the stairs slowly, he listened to the ancient wood creaking under his weight. The dark of the basement was so overwhelming, he couldn't even see beyond the beam of light pointed straight ahead. He swallowed thickly, sweeping the light across the basement, and allowed his eyes to scan the room carefully. “Police! Who’s there!?” he shouted, again. As he searched, his flashlight illuminated the ground just in front of him. Sure enough, the spots of dark on the dirty ground had taken shape, and they most certainly looked like blood splatters. The deeper into the basement he went, Mack found his stomach turning at what he saw. The ground was littered with carcasses; rats, a fawn, pigeons, all dead eviscerated animals with flesh torn from muscle, until their skin lay in random piles on the ground like discarded clothing. The stench of old blood was overpowering, and Mack found himself gagging. His eyes landed on a pile of bones in the corner, and the unmistakeable sight of teeth marks could be seen chewed into the old bones. His skin crawled with anxiety.

 

To his right, he could hear a scurry of tiny feet, as what sounded like a rat fled from his presence. He whirled on his heel, pointing the beam of light in its direction. He saw nothing. But his motion had definitely disturbed the atmosphere around him. Mack froze, listening to the total silence around him; he could hear breathing… a deep, rattling shake of air.. and each intake of breath he could hear, was colored with the undertones of quiet crying. “Fuck…” he hissed, reaching for his gun. His hand shook as he plucked the gun from its holster. Flicking the safety off, Mack spun on his heel as he scanned the room, looking for the source of the sound.

 

Behind him, a deep growl rumbled over the stifling air; the growl echoed, rattling the air around him, as if the pit he stood in was suddenly surrounded by vicious dogs, ready to attack him. “Shit…!” he croaked, his eyes bulging as he listened for the source of the sound. Nothing… he scanned the room, spinning slowly.

 

The growling only grew more intense.

 

“Hunter…” he squeaked, his voice barely audible as his tight throat choked off his words in terror. “ _Hunter_..!”

 

A force slammed into him. Mack felt a heavy weight bore right into his side, throwing him to the ground with a clatter of his flashlight; the light went out with a sharp pop of the bulb shattering. Mack screamed as he felt himself tackled forcefully. Heavy footfalls echoed across the now pitch black basement, darting from where he’d been thrown to the ground, to the far corner of the room. Mack scrambled to his feet, and he could feel wet, sticky residue of blood on his side. Only, it wasn’t his. He blinked, feeling around the ground as he grabbed for his gun. “I can’t fucking see!” he hissed, aiming directionless into that section of the basement.

 

“MACK!” Hunter shouted, descending the stairs into the basement. His flashlight beam caught Mack across the face, and he looked up at his partner. “Shit, Mack are you bleeding?!” Hunter asked, rushing over to his side.

 

‘NO I ain’t bleeding, but something fuckin’ tackled me!” he hissed, still aiming into the darkest space of the cellar.

 

Hunter froze, his eyes widening as he turned. The beam of light traveled across the dirty, bloody floor of the basement, scanning the floor carefully until finally, it landed on their target. “... Mack… what the fuck…” he gasped, completely stunned by what he saw.

 

In the corner of the room was the figure of a hunched up man, his front turned to the cracked foundation of the cabin; he was dressed in ratty, old camping clothes, and his shoes had long since gone missing. His feet and hands were covered in scratches and dirt, and several of his fingernails were completely missing from his hands. He sat curled up on the ground, balancing on the balls of his feet with his legs tucked into his chest; his head was buried in his knees, his arms wrapped around his head and neck to shield him from the light. Even still, the officers could see that the man had long hair, nearly down to his shoulders, and it dangled in his face in greasy, filthy ropes. But what scared them most was how thin the man looked. His skin was deathly pale, covered in scratches and stretched over a willowy, gangly figure. When Hunter spoke, the figure’s head snapped up to stare at them, and both officers jumped back at the sight of his face. His face was covered in a thick layer of stubble, skin coated in thick, sticky blood, and his bright blue eyes were wide and bloodshot, staring at them from a gaunt face; he watched them from across the room as if he feared they would hurt him.

 

Mack swallowed; he stared at the figure that had tackled him while his heart hammered wildly in his chest. “Hey… sir… we’re the police. We’re gonna… we’re gonna get you outta here, okay? You’re gonna be okay.” he said, tentatively holding his hand out to him.

 

The figure shied back, shrieking at the top of his lungs at the hand extended towards him. He ducked back into the protection of his arms, hiding from both the officers and began to howl at them, hissing and spitting in fright. Mack couldn’t shake how terrifying this man looked, growling at them like some wild beast that had been cornered and feared would be put down if they got too close. From the look of his living conditions, the filth and excrement, the sheer tragedy of this man’s life, a wild animal was the only description fit for this person. The horror caught up to him and he felt a pang of disgust at whoever had done this to this poor man.

 

Hunter cursed, stepping back from the man in the corner; he was clearly far more spooked by the man than Mack was. His own gun was now trained on the figure, cocked and ready to fire if he suddenly lunged for them both. “Mack… what do we do?” he whispered, looking at his partner.

 

Mack shook his head, reaching for his radio. He brought the device to his lips, clearing his throat as he radioed into the dispatcher. “Officer Mackenzie… radioing in. Send out an ambulance and a squad car out to Windsor road, outside Taconic Park. We’ve got a John Doe… He’s in real bad shape...”

 

~*~

 

Steve roused to the sound of his phone ringing at his side. Blinking bleary eyes open, the blond sat up, shaking his head as he tried to clear the sleep from his brain. Sunlight was streaming into his bedroom, and he yawned, glancing at the clock to his right. It read 10 am, on the dot. He groaned, snatching his phone up from the bed next to him. “Hello…” he said, his voice gruff with sleep.

 

 _“Merry Christmas, Steve!”_ Sam’s voice carried over the speakers, sounding far too cheerful for Steve’s liking.

 

Steve sighed, rolling his eyes as he swung his legs over the side of the bed. “It isn’t Christmas, Sam… that was two weeks ago,” he said, voice hedging on annoyance.

 

_“I know, man, I was just checking to make sure you were paying attention. Since, you know, you missed your own 30th birthday this year.”_

 

Steve sighed, standing up and crossing the room to his bathroom; he slipped inside and turned on the faucet to get a stream of warm water flowing. “Am I ever gonna live that down?” he asked, staring at himself in the reflection of the mirror. Pale, dry skin. Bags and wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. Rough, dirty hair. Fuck, he looked like fucking shit.

 

 _“Nope. Anyone that can forget their birthday falls on the same day of the year as the celebration of big colorful explosions in the sky, deserves to get teased for it,”_ Sam said, sounding far too smug on the phone. _“Sounds like you just woke up. I’m gonna wager a guess and say you fell asleep in your clothes again.”_

 

Steve paused, looking down at himself. He had. “No I didn’t,” he replied, sounding petulant as he answered him.

 

_“You hesitated, so yes you did. Anyway, figured I’d call you as soon as I found out. We’ve got another lead. Just came in this morning, actually. Get showered up and meet me at this address: 140 Old Orangeburg Road, Orangeburg, NY 10962_ _._ _It’s a pretty damn good lead so you might wanna hurry up.”_

 

Steve nodded, exiting the bathroom and jotting down the address rattled off to him on a piece of scrap paper. “Alright, gimme a couple of hours,” he sighed, looking up at the ceiling. “What kinda lead we talking about? Live? Dead? Gimme info, Sam.”

 

_“Live John Doe. Some of the descriptors match Bucky’s, so let’s take a look and rule this place out. I’ll see you in a couple hours.”_

 

With that, the line went dead, and Steve sighed, staring at the phone in his hand. God… God, he hoped that this lead would finally give him some answers...

 

~~~~

 

Steve pulled up to the drive of the meet-up location he’d been given. He paused, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose as he stared at the building in front of him. He looked down at the scrap of paper in his hand, comparing the addresses for a moment before he huffed. “The fuck, Sam…” he grumbled, getting out of his car. As he did, he spied Sam standing a good dozen yards away, right outside the gate.

 

Steve stuffed his hands into the pockets of his coat; his feet crunched the snow beneath his boots as he crossed the path and approached his friend. “This is the place? I thought we were going to a police station,” he said, by way of greeting.

 

Sam chuckled. “Nice to see you too on this fine morning. The police transferred their Doe here just a couple hours ago. Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, we haven’t had a lead in a month.” Turning, Sam lead Steve towards the entrance of the building.

 

Steve looked up, staring at the sign above them. ‘Rockland Psychiatric Center’ sat in big, bold letters over the archway, and Steve frowned. “A Mental hospital... “ he murmured, shaking his head. “Well, I hope you’re right about this…”

 

Sam paused, staring at the ground in front of him. “Me too, man… for your sake, me too.”

 

Both men crossed the threshold of the building, stepping inside to the busy reception area. They spotted a woman sitting at the desk; as they approached her. Steve smiled, leaning against the counter. “Hi… uhm.. who do we speak to to see a John Doe that was brought in this morning?”

 

The woman looked up, her expression souring instantly as she shook her head. “I’m sorry sir, but we can’t disclose that information to you. Until the police can give us information on the client, there are no visitors allowed to the recovery ward.”

 

Steve glowered, looking down at the woman. He didn’t drive almost an hour, just to get turned away at the door; not if he could fucking help it. He grit his teeth, attempting to rein in his temper for the time being. “Look… I know it’s against the rules, but I’ve been in contact with several police forces over the past five years, looking for someone very important to me. We just need to take a look at this man and see if it’s him. We won’t even speak to him, if it’s not who we’re looking for.”

 

The woman stood up, crossing her arms over her chest. She was a beefy woman with large glasses and a deep set frown on her face. Honestly, Steve was pretty sure she could reach across the counter and punch him out with one swing of her fist. However, before she could speak, a voice piped up, catching their attention.

 

“I’m sorry to interrupt, but did you say you were looking for a missing individual?”

 

Sam and Steve looked up, spying an older looking man standing across the hall from them. He had graying hair, a wrinkled face, and he wore a lab coat. He had a bright, friendly looking smile on his features, and his hands were folded behind his back. At his side stood a police officer with brown hair and a thick English accent; the officer was reading off of a notepad, his pen dangling from his teeth as he glanced up with trepidation to the two men standing at the reception desk. The doctor smiled, gesturing for the officer to follow him as he approached Sam and Steve. “Forgive me for eavesdropping, but… I couldn’t help but speak up. Janine, thank you, but I’ll take it from here.” he said, waving to the woman.

 

Steve nodded, turning to face the man head-on; he rather relished the victory of trumping the bitch in front of him, barely hiding his smirk as she scowled at him and sat back down. “Yeah we are... who are you?”

 

The doctor smiled, stepping up to him. “Dr. Pierce. I’ve been put in charge of the patient that was brought in this morning. The police were rather shaken when they brought him into our establishment. It seems the individual was discovered in deplorable conditions, out in the woods outside Taconic Park, locked in a basement. We have a medical team examining him now, and from what I can say at this moment, he is in very bad shape.”

 

Steve listened, his heart slamming against his ribcage. Taconic park... that was just beyond the campsite that Bucky and his friends had gone to. For the first time in five years, this was the closest lead they had had, and the sudden, overwhelming panic that set into his bones made him dizzy. “Taconic Park… that’s near the campsites, right?” Steve swallowed, his hands clenching tightly until his fingernails dug into his palms sharp enough to bleed. “This Doe… does he have brown hair and blue eyes? A cleft chin?”

 

Dr. Pierce listened, his eyes widening a little. “Why… yes he does.” he said, tilting his head slightly in surprise. “He does indeed.”

 

Steve inhaled sharply, looking over his shoulder at Sam. “Sam…” he gasped.

 

Sam stepped forward, placing his hand on Steve’s shoulder. “Can we see him?” he asked, voicing Steve’s question for him. “We’ve been looking for his spouse for the past five years after his camping party was murdered outside that park.”

 

Silence enveloped them as that last bit of information sank in. The air vibrated between them, and Steve felt his palms growing sweaty with nerves. After a moment, Dr. Pierce nodded, looking between the two men before him. “Of course,” he replied; turning, Dr. Pierce walked to a pair of swinging doors, holding one of them open. “Come with me. Officer Hunter, would you mind joining us please? I’m sure this is all part of protocol, after all.”

 

Steve immediately followed, feeling like his legs would give out from beneath him. This really was the closest lead they had in a very long time, and from the doctor’s description, it sounded exactly like Bucky. But why would he be put in a mental institute? Bucky wasn’t crazy. Unless… “You said he was found in the woods… is he sick? Is this... like... PTSD or something?” Steve asked, looking at the doctor. He didn’t like where this whole situation was going, and it showed in his stilted steps and nervous twitches.

 

Dr. Pierce grimaced, looking bothered as he thought of his newest patient. “What’s your name?” he asked, peering up at the taller man.

 

“Steve. Steve Barnes.” he replied, chewing on his lower lip, anxiously.

 

Dr. Pierce nodded. “Mr. Barnes, when I say deplorable conditions… I mean, imprisonment.” Dr. Pierce hesitated, looking up at the officer next to him. “Why don’t you tell them what you found? I’m not entirely sure it is my place to say anything at this point in time without your word.”

 

The officer huffed, capping his pen again before meeting Steve’s gaze head-on. “This guy we found was locked in a basement with no light or contact with the outside world and he was screaming and hissing at us the entire time. I dunno how long he’s been down there, but if you’re saying he’s been missing for five years, then my bet is safe on saying it’s been for that entire time. We found a bunch of dead rats and animals laying around like they’ve been chewed up and eaten, and lemme just say, we didn’t find a loo down there. He’s been living in his own shit and with dead animals for a long time, Mr. Barnes, he isn’t looking too good right now. I wouldn’t know what kinda diseases he’s picked up in there.”

 

Dr. Pierce spoke up. “This is all true. His nutritional state is in complete disarray; he’s been living off of raw creatures for so long, and he’s has been so severely dehydrated, he’s sorely underweight and fevered. We’ve estimated this man is about 32 years old, but mentally he’s regressed to a child-like state, completely controlled by fear and panic. He’s speaking only few words at a time, and they are entirely in Russian. However,” he paused and the group stopped outside a set of large white doors. “we have the best doctors looking at him right now. He’s been cleaned and his wounds tended to, and he seems to be bouncing back rather quickly. We’ve put him in an observation room to catalogue his mental state and to make sure he doesn’t take a turn for the worse; the room has been decorated to emulate a comfortable bedroom, rather than a medical cell, and he does seem much more comfortable than when the police brought him in. We feel confident that with work, we can bring this man back to himself in a few months’ time.”

 

Steve listened, feeling his stomach clenching up violently with anxiety. To think that _anyone_ living like that for so long sat ill with him, but knowing that it was possibly Bucky… guilt and self-loathing ravaged his being like a plague. While he lived in a safe, comfortable and warm home for five years, Bucky could have been living in squalor, filth and decay like some discarded piece of fucking trash left to rot and starve save for the unfortunate rat or mouse that managed to find its way into the cellar and chewed up raw. It was fucking disgusting, thinking of the kind of evil someone could inflict on an innocent person, who had done nothing to deserve this Hell he had to live through.

 

His vision blurred and he ripped his glasses from his face to scrub the tears from his eyes before they fell. He had to be strong right now; for this man’s sake, whether it was Bucky or not. Inhaling slowly, Steve raised his eyes to the doctor’s face, offering him up a disturbed look before he rolled his lip under his teeth. He worried the flesh violently, cracking his already clapped lip further, before he tasted blood on his tongue. It was now or never; see this man, rule it out as not being Bucky… or face the reality that perhaps his husband, the love of his life, had been reduced to a quivering, trembling creature of fear and torture. He needed him to be strong. Bucky needed him to come back to himself, or he would forever be a lost cause, locked away in a mental hospital for the rest of his days. “... just lemme see him… please…”

 

Dr. Pierce nodded, glancing over Steve’s shoulder at Sam for approval; he obviously was met with it. He sighed and pocketed his reading glasses. “Very well then. Come inside.” With that, he turned and let the three of them into the observatory. It was a cold, dark room, and along the back wall was a large, one way mirror. The room beyond the mirror was brightly lit and comfortably decorated, just as he’d described; there was a large bed in the corner of the room, a table, a bookshelf, and two plush chairs. Bright, friendly pictures hung on the wall, and a potted plant sat on the bookshelf. “We bathed him and dressed him in comfortable clothing, but… we did have to sedate the patient just enough to get our hands on him. He’s incredibly feral at this time, and won’t allow anyone to touch him.” Dr. Pierce turned, looking through the glass, to the side of the room where the bed sat.

 

Steve inhaled, preparing himself for what he was going to see. Fear laced through his heart like a hot knife, and he very nearly turned and left the room. Thoughts of Bucky filled his mind, his smiling, happy face and cheerful heart that never should have seen the darkness it had, and he shook himself from his fears. With his mind made up, he approached the window with tentative steps. Steve turned, facing the direction Dr. Pierce had looked, and his breath caught in his chest until he felt like he could choke on it. On the bed, a man sat curled up on himself; he wore a pair of sweatpants and a thin t-shirt, the only clothing the medical staff seemed that they could get on him. The clothes were baggy on his body. His legs were tucked into his chest, and his arms were wrapped around his shins. Steve could see multiple cuts and bruises all over his arms and what he could see of his ankles and feet. The man’s head was tucked down into his knees and his face was protected by a curtain of clean, dark hair.

 

But as he watched, the man looked up at the mirror across the room in a drugged stupor, and his hair fell away from his scratched face. Steve gasped, a choked out sob escaping him as he clapped his hand over his mouth in shock. “Oh my God…” Steve cried, tears streaming down his face at the sight of him. He thought he would have been prepared for this. He thought five years was enough time to ready himself for this moment. Five years had not nearly been enough.

 

Next to him, Sam stepped up to the mirror. He stared at the figure they’d been looking for for so long, and a sort of discomfort settled over his figure. Steve felt Sam’s hand rest on his shoulder again, but he was fairly certain it was to steady himself, rather than to offer Steve up the comfort he needed so desperately. “Holy fucking _shit_ …” Sam breathed, his voice barely above a whisper as he stared at his missing friend like he’d seen a ghost. Perhaps, if they could never bring Bucky out of this… he was looking at a ghost.

 

Steve sobbed openly; he didn’t care if he embarrassed himself in front of the doctor or the officer. His emotions were in flux, running rampant in his mind as he tried, like mad, to keep himself in check. He felt like he was coming apart at the seams, all the tears and pain he’d felt for so long, threatening to overwhelm him and drown him in their misery. He pressed his hand to the glass as he stared at his missing husband; God, how he wished he could be in there, hold him and tell him everything was going to be ok. Tell him that he loved him and he was going to take care of him no matter what. ‘Til death do them part.

 

Five years of heartbreak… five years of torment, sleepless nights, broken hearts. It was finally over. He’d done it. “It’s really him…”

 

Dr. Pierce stepped up to Steve’s side, looking at the man in the bed. “You have been looking for this man this entire time? This is who you have been looking for?” he asked, looking up at him in surprise and fascination.

 

Steve nodded; his breath hitched in his quivering chest, and he glanced at the doctor with teary, red eyes. He turned his attention back to the mirror, staring at his partner as his heart swelled up in his chest with devotion. There was no way he was abandoning Bucky now; he needed him more than ever. “Yeah… that’s my husband. Bucky.”

 


	2. The Long Road to Recovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve manages to break through to Bucky and promise him that he's safe and warm in his arms after his nightmare experience. However, with the doctor's diagnosis, Steve fears that Bucky's mental health may be severely compromised. What follows is their struggle to sustain his health as Bucky continues to grow used to living in the real world again. But will he ever truly be back to his normal self? Steve isn't so sure anymore...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I FINALLY UPDATED THIS BAD BOY! HOLY FUCK IT TOOK ME FOREVER, BUT I DID IT! YAAAAAAAHHH I DID IT!!! HAHAHAAH!!!!
> 
> LI, I really hope you like this chapter, because this one fucking kicked my ASS writing it! I put a lot of research into this chapter to make it as realistic as possible, and while the ghost didn't really make an appearance in this story, It's definitely a lot of set up for what Bucky and Steve are going to be dealing with after they go home. Get ready, the haunting is coming!!
> 
> Trigger warning for tonic-clonic seizure in this chapter. I did my best to make it as believable as possible for the reader, so if anyone is triggered by the idea of seizures or the idea of someone freaking out over watching someone have a seizure, you've been warned now. it's right in the middle of the chapter, so if you feel the need to skip the middle section, it's separated by line spacing. 
> 
> Also, I did my best to talk about schizophrenia medication as realistically and properly as possible, so if I made a mistake on any of my descriptions, please let me know so I can fix it. Thank you so much for your understanding everyone! It means a lot to me!!!

From the opposite side of the glass, Bucky stared at the one-way mirror, blue eyes glossy and bloodshot with exhaustion and drugs. His body swayed slightly on the bed as he struggled to hold onto some sort of equilibrium; slowly, he extended his hand in front of his face, staring at his long, spindly fingers like he’d never seen them before, his eyes locked on his hand for a long moment. After a beat, he tucked his hand back into his stomach with a throaty whine, rocking back and forth on the mattress he sat perched on, to the cadence of his own fears. He turned his head from the glass across the room from him, and muttered hurried words under his breath, phrases that tumbled out in no coherent pattern, and barely audible to the viewers on the other side of the glass. Still, as his voice was captured by the hidden microphone and spilled out in a static-fueled rumble from the speakers fitted into the observatory, the viewers could definitely tell that whatever Bucky was saying, it definitely wasn’t in English.

Steve watched his husband for a long, pained moment, his eyes stinging with the torrent of salty tears that filled his eyes and spilled down his cheeks in an unending wave of emotion; he pressed his hands to the glass in front of him, trying to muster up the courage to ask the doctor if he could go into that room, see his husband after so fucking long, and hold him in his arms again. But as he had prepared himself to request such a small thing from the doctor, Steve paused when Buck began to mutter to himself. He blinked and leaned towards the speaker next to the mirror with confusion on his face; Steve listened intently, his brows knitting together and his tears drying up as he struggled to make sense of what Bucky was saying. “That’s… that’s definitely Russian. “What the hell…” Steve breathed through a cracked, raw voice. He looked to the doctor with confusion and anxiety written across his features; his fingers curled against the glass in front of him as he pleaded the doctor silently for answers This wasn’t right… none of this was _fucking right_. “H-he doesn’t… he doesn’t speak Russian… how the fuck is that possible? What is going on?”

Next to him, Steve felt a presence sidle up to him, drawing his attention away from the doctor. Next to him, Sam gave Steve’s shoulder a gentle squeeze, pulling his attention solely to him before he spoke; of the two of them, Sam seemed the most collected and calm, and spoke in a low, soothing tone to rationalize his friend’s worries. “Maybe the guy that kidnapped him only spoke Russian. Maybe he’s the only person that Bucky’s had to communicate with this whole time. I mean… that sort of thing can happen, can’t it? Like a Stockholm type situation, right?” he asked, looking to the doctor for clarification. When Dr. Pierce nodded in agreement, Sam turned and gave his friend a small, hopeful smile. “Yeah, you see? Nothin’ weird… just, coping. Bucky probably did what he had to, to deal with a shit hand he got dealt. Doesn’t mean he doesn’t remember how to speak English.”

Steve nodded to his friend, relieved at the seemingly simple explanation, and turned to look back into the room; only when he did, he found himself face to face with Bucky, the gaunt figure standing half obscured in shadow as he lingered, quite suddenly, right before the mirror Steve stood at. Steve leaped back with a shout of surprise at the sudden appearance, stumbling backwards from the glass. His heart raced to life in his chest, thrumming wildly against the bones of his ribcage and he clutched his chest in panic as he felt his lungs seizing up with the fright he’d just encountered. Struggling to breathe through trembling, sickly lungs, Steve stared at the silhouette of his husband through the tinted glass. Bucky didn’t move an inch, seemingly staring seemingly right at him through the glass that separated them by just a few, solid inches. “Jesus Christ!” he gasped raggedly, his breathing shallow and raw as he struggled to get a grip on his body. “How the… how did he get…”

“Woah, breathe, Steve!” Sam exclaimed, rushing over to his side. He dug Steve’s inhaler out of his pocket and handed it to him, murmuring commands that Steve take his medication before he keeled over. This time, however, the blond didn’t accept it; instead, he pushed his friend’s hand away from him, shaking his head in defiance of his efforts. It took him a few moments to muster the breath needed to speak, but when he did, he looked up at Sam and offered him a weak smile.

“I’m fine… he just scared me, that’s all…” Steve exhaled; he lowered his gaze to the floor, taking a moment to collect himself. When his lungs stopped trembling and began to relax in his chest, Steve looked back up again and his gaze sought out the doctor immediately. “That glass is see-through only on one side, right? Like… he can’t see us right?” he asked, chewing his already raw lower lip nervously; he didn’t want to think how bothered he was at the thought of his husband spying on them right now, actually creeped him out; he was supposed to be supporting him, not panicking over every little movement just beyond the window.

Dr. Pierce nodded, and he glanced at the mirror in front of them with a tired look. “I’m sorry I should have warned you… he does that a lot, I’m afraid. He’s frightened quite a few nurses over the past couple of hours already, just since his arrival. We’re fairly certain he doesn’t know anyone is in here… but it’s still unnerving, all the same.”

Steve nodded, shooting the doctor a side-eyed look of irritation before looking back to the glass in front of him; yeah it _would_ have been nice if he’d warnedhim first, but Steve wasn’t picking his battles today. It was a miracle on its own, that they’d even found him in the first place. How many more years would Steve have searched for Bucky had they not followed this innocuous lead that morning? Steve didn’t want to think how much longer the two of them would have suffered in the long run.

Instead of dwelling on the fright, Steve straightened his posture and approached the mirror once again. With a hesitant gesture, Steve pressed his palm to the glass again, just above where Bucky’s left shoulder hovered, and he stared at his figure for a long moment; his image was tinted just slightly from the glass, but Steve could almost make out every detail in his spouse’s face. He looked horrible; seen far too many years of pain and suffering. It almost looked like he was looking at a completely different person. Steve swallowed thickly, willing his emotions to relax for the time being; he needed to keep a level head, especially if he wanted to actually go into that room and see Bucky again, speak to him… possibly break through to him, if he could...

After a time, Steve mustered up the courage to speak, his resolve hardening as his eyes narrowed in determination; he glanced over at the doctor, and cleared his throat to catch his attention.

“I want to go in there.”

He said it so simply, without preamble… as if he were just talking about the weather. But the odd, strangled look he got from both Sam and Dr. Pierce made him shift awkwardly in his spot and he almost regretted speaking at all. But he wasn’t going to back down, not now. He wanted… no, he _needed_ to be in that room with him. Steve literally felt like if he didn’t go in there, speak to his husband and try his best to get through to him, then those five years he spent clawing for answers, begging God for at least a sign of what happened to his spouse… they would have been for nothing.

Silence fell over the group. After a moment Dr. Pierce cleared his throat, giving Steve an uncomfortable look before glancing back at the officer in the room with them. Hunter simply shrugged a shoulder at him in response and looked away, wordlessly giving the doctor his permission to allow this man his one request.

With that response, Dr. Pierce coughed into his fist and lowered his gaze to the clipboard in his hand before he found his voice again. “I suppose that could be done… he is, after all, your spouse.”

Steve felt a shiver of anticipation flutter through his chest at the permission he was given, and a fire of anticipation welled up in his chest. This was it. He was going to finally speak to Bucky again… reassure him that everything would be alright. He was _finally_ going to bring him hom. Breathing heavily through his nose to relax his tense shoulders, Steve turned his attention back to the room in front of them, only to find that Bucky had moved away from the mirror once again. Now, he stood in the most adjacent corner of the room, his face buried in the wall in front of him, unmoving. Steve’s heart cracked open all over again at the pitiful sight of him; fuck, he needed to be in there. What the hell was he standing around for?!

Steve inhaled a shaky, pained breath, and his fists tightened at his sides as he made up his mind once and for all. “Okay… I’m going in there,” he murmured, turning for the door that would lead him to the room on the other side of the glass.

“Whoa, Steve. Wait a minute, man.” Sam exclaimed, his voice pinched in concern. He clapped his hand on Steve’s shoulder, pulling him away from the mirror to look into his eyes. “You sure you wanna go in there? What if he hurts you? They said he’s not stable right now. Do you really wanna risk him getting the beat-down on you like this?” Sam asked, pleading with Steve to think this through, to be reasonable…

It did him little good. Steve simply stared back at Sam with his jaw set in conviction; he understood his friend’s concern, he really did, but at that moment it just didn’t matter one fucking bit. Offering him a tired sigh instead, Steve simply pulled away from his touch and turned back for the room ahead of him. “I have to go in there, Sam… that’s all there is to it,” he murmured, unwilling to let anyone sway him.

Still, Steve pocketed his glasses, just in case Sam was right about Bucky lashing out at him.

With that taken care of, Steve turned away from the three of them and slipped through the back door of the observatory. He stepped out into the cold, fluorescent lit hallway outside, and approached the thick, metal door that kept Bucky locked inside that room; Steve prayed it was for Bucky’s sake and not the other way around. He waited patiently for one of the nurses to come and let him into that room, his fingers tingling with the ice of anxiety as he watched the nurse painfully, slowly, unlock the door before him. ‘ _Fuck, Bucky…’_ Steve thought, rolling his eyes to the ceiling above as he prayed to whatever deity that would listen that this would end well. ‘ _Please be alright in there…_

The moment the lock clicked open, Steve was twisting the handle before the nurse had even removed her hand from the lock, and pushing his way inside the room. The door creaked open with an ominous groan and he slipped inside the room, light on his feet, and every nerve in his body alive with worry. He shut the door behind himself, hoping to be as quiet as he possibly could. The last thing he wanted was to spook his husband, or this whole thing would be ruined.

But when the doorjamb clicked loudly in the room, Steve felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up in panic; he watched in dismay as Bucky whirled on him with a hiss and a wild-eyed look of fear. In a frantic, desperate attempt to flee this new presence in the room with him, Bucky backed further into the corner of the room, shying away from him as if he could meld right into the walls and hide away from him forever; his fingertips dug into the wall behind him, the bare nailbeds of his wounded fingers weeping pink against the wall as he attempted to claw his way back from Steve.

Steve stared at him from across the room, his eyes brimming with tears that never seemed to end as he watched his own husband, his _best friend_ , looking so terrified of him. ‘ _Not right, not right, not fucking right!’_ his mind played on loop as he struggled to keep hold of his own resolve long enough to speak to his husband. After a moment, Steve spoke up, his voice cracking in his throat as he tried to placate him with soothing words.

“Bucky…? Bucky it’s… it’s me.” Despite his own frantic beating heart, Steve kept his voice low and calm, like speaking to a scared animal; he inched further into the room, casting glances at the mirror, where he knew the doctor and his friend were watching him carefully. He couldn’t see them at all, but Steve could practically feel the collectively held breath as they watched him approach his husband, slowly… one foot in front of the other, tentative… _unsure_. Chewing the corner of his lip, Steve turned back to Bucky and offered him a weak smile of reassurance; he extended his hand to him. “Bucky... it’s Steve. You remember me, don’t you?”

Bucky stared at him from the corner of the room, his vision partially obscured by the mane of dark hair that hung wild and untamed in his face; a low growl bubbled up in the back of his throat as he stared at the outstretched hand coming slowly, so painfully slowly towards him. Bucky hissed louder, hunching back into the wall until his feet skidded across the plush carpeting in his attempt to back away from the blond approaching him. When Steve was only a couple feet away from him, Bucky suddenly screeched in terror and bounded over the bed to his left, scurrying as far away from Steve as he possibly could; he dropped down to the floor next to the bed, tucking himself into the wall as he hid his face from the man in there with him. He curled into the tightest ball he could manage, his knees shielding his face from the room as a whine, pathetic and throaty, ebbed into the room around them; he rocked back and forth, bumping his shoulder into the plush bed next to him as he uttered those tiny, petrified noises, his fingers digging into his shins as he hid himself away from Steve as best as he possibly could.

Steve jumped back when Bucky leaped over the bed, taken completely by surprise by his panicked attempt to flee; he watched in horror as his husband tucked himself down to the floor like a frightened child, crying into his knees as if he feared that Steve had come to harm him, rather than protect him. Bucky was _terrified_ of him, and Steve couldn’t shake the ache of despair  that swallowed him up as he realized… perhaps he’d never get through to his husband again _._

Still, Steve swallowed down his own tears and inched closer to him; he knew he was dancing on the wire now, but he couldn’t just let Bucky go without at least trying to get through to him; he simply had to. Steve would die of a broken heart if he never brought his husband back to him...

“Bucky… it’s okay. It’s me, baby… it’s Stevie…” He closed the last of the gap between them and dropped down to his knees in front of his husband; he kept a good foot between them, but leaned close enough in to get a really good look at his spouse, close enough that should he need it, he could pull his partner into his arms and never let him go again. “It’s your Stevie… remember?”

After a few moments, Bucky peeked out from his fetal position, staring at Steve through the unruly bangs dangling in his eyes. This was good, at least; at least he was actually looking at him now. Tentatively, Steve extended his hand to him; his fingers trembled visibly as he reached out for Bucky, hoping that a gentle hand would soothe him into a complacent, more accepting state of mind.

Without warning, Bucky shrieked again and lashed out at Steve. He struck him in the side of his head with an open hand, throwing Steve to the side before he curled back up against the side of the bed, sobbing harder than ever as he tucked himself back into the cocoon of his own protection.

Steve gasped out in pain at the slap that rattled his head; he caught himself on the edge of the bed and he shook himself to clear the stars that flickered in the backs of his eyes. He could hear the rattle of a key attempting to open the door, and he panicked that his attempts to get through to Bucky were crumbling down around him before he’d really even begun. Looking up at the mirror, Steve held his hand out to them, his eyes wide as he begged them wordlessly not to come in.  God, he hoped they would listen to him; the last thing Bucky needed was people bursting into the room and scaring him further than he already was. Steve could do this… he _had_ do this on his own…

After a moment, the door rattling ceased, and the room fell silent once again. Steve stared at the mirror for a long moment, waiting to see if they would do anything else. Nothing happened.

With a relieved sigh, Steve turned his attention back to his spouse, and noted the way he had tucked himself into the side of the mattress, petrified and shaking like a leaf. Nervously, Steve rubbed the side of his head where he had been hit, and he uttered a relieved huff of breath. It wouldn’t lump or bruise. It had just startled him.

He turned his attention back on Bucky, ready to try again and break that wall of fear that kept his spouse trembling and too frightened to see reason; but as he looked to his husband, the sunlight ebbing in through the darkening curtains of the room glinted off of something on the floor and his eyes darted to the floor. Next to him, his glasses lay open on the floor, as if they’d been placed there just moments prior. Steve realized they must have fallen out of his pocket when Bucky hit him, and he plucked them up from the carpet to slip them back into his pocket. But as he did, Steve hesitated as a thought occurred to him; it honestly was a crazy thought, but… just maybe...

Maybe the reason why he wasn’t getting through to him was because Bucky didn’t recognize him. In his state of mind, he could struggle to recognize anything familiar. But the glasses Steve wore… they were always a constant in their lives together. He never changed the frames, not in nine years. He'd worn them every day since he’d fallen in love with Bucky, and Bucky had practically never seen Steve without his glasses on. Maybe he’d get a better reaction out of him if he saw those frames once again…

Carefully, Steve plucked up the glasses from his pocket, and checked them over for any cracks. When Steve was satisfied that his glasses had gone unharmed, a hopeful smile crossed his lips as he looked up at the trembling man in front of him; Steve opened the frames up and slipped them on, resting them on the bridge of his nose with a nervous lick of his lips. Once they were on, he turned his attention back to Bucky, leaning over to get right in his line of vision. He wouldn’t move now… not for any protestation Bucky would give. He had to see him, now… he just _had to._ “Bucky… look at me, Bucky…” he murmured, his voice tinted with determination as he spoke.

It took him a long moment, but after a time, Bucky glanced up from the bed. This close, Steve could make out every little cut and bruise on his face, and he felt his heart crumble to dust in his chest. What the fuck had Bucky suffered through all these years? What the fuck hadn’t he protected the love of his _life_ from? Despite his inner turmoil, Steve kept it together, at least for the time being. Bucky needed him to be calm. He didn’t need him freaking out anymore than he already was.

Instead, Steve offered him a small smile and spoke in as soothing a tone as he could manage as he finally met Bucky’s gaze once again. “It’s me… Stevie? You and I… we knew each other since we were little boys?” Steve offered. He held his palm out to him, open hand and loose fingers as he tried to summon any memory Bucky could possibly be retaining, with little words and a pleading gaze. “You were a sergeant in the ARMY… I was there for you when you came home from duty. We… we have a puppy named Sarge. You loved him, remember?”

Steve swallowed, looking down at his left hand; in the low light, the wedding ring shone brighter than ever, and he smiled a little as he looked up at his husband. “We got married… five years ago, you and I got married and it was the happiest day of our lives.” Without waiting, Steve held up his left hand, and the faint glint of his wedding ring shone right in Bucky’s line of sight. “Do you remember me, baby?”

Bucky stared at him, eyes wide and wet as the blue orbs leaked their terrified tears down his sallow face. But this time, he didn’t make a sound; this time, he really _looked_ at Steve, his lips trembling visibly as he took in the sight of him carefully. Bucky stared at him through the tears in his eyes, sniffles barely noticeable in the room as his trembling slowly ceased; he didn’t move for the longest of moments, too intent on reading this man’s face in front of him like he didn’t honestly know him.

Disappointment welled up like a fountain in Steve’s chest, and his stomach constricted in sorrow. This wasn’t working… why did he think this would actually fucking work? This wasn’t some fucking movie with a happy ending in store for them. Maybe he’d really lost Bucky for good…

Choking off a sob, Steve lowered his gaze to the floor, his hand dropping to his lap as he gave up. This really was for nothing… all those years, fucking wasted, and he’d still lost the one man he’d ever loved in his life.

But just as he moved to stand and leave his spouse be, to never suffer again, suddenly… suddenly Steve heard it…

It was faint… but it was the sweetest, most beautiful sound Steve had heard in five years.

“... Stevie?”

Steve’s eyes snapped up from the floor and a tidal wave of hope filled him to the brim; with sudden force, all of Steve’s emotions came crashing down on him from that tiny, pitiful little question and a broken sob left him. He clutched his hand over his mouth, and tears welled up in his eyes like a flood, spilling down his cheeks. Bucky recognized him! Bucky _knew him!_

“Y-yeah… yeah, it’s me baby!” Steve whimpered, nodding his head eagerly; he dropped his hand and smiled at him through his torrential tears as he fought the urge to throw himself at Bucky in his relief. Instead, Steve risked his luck and he inched closer to his husband, hoping that Bucky wouldn’t shy away again.

This time, he didn’t. Instead, Bucky raised his head further, really looking at Steve, before his own blue eyes leaked a fresh wave of tears and a wail of relief ebbed into the quiet room around them.

“St-Stevie…? Stevie it’s…” Bucky choked, crying openly as he stared at his spouse for the first time in half a decade. He dropped his hands to the floor, and pushed off of his spot. He threw himself at Steve, wrapping his arms around his neck as he buried his face in his chest with a cry. “Stevie… it’s you! It’s really you!”

Steve broke down; he enfolded his arms around his husband’s quaking shoulders and pulled him as close as he possibly could to his chest; fat, wet tears continued to roll down his cheeks as he held him so tight, afraid that if he let go of him, Bucky would disappear once again. “Oh my God...Bucky...I’m here! I’m here, I swear to God I’m not leaving you again!” he sobbed; Steve buried his face in the crown of Bucky’s head, inhaling the scent of hospital grade shampoo as he pressed desperate kisses on his crown, repeatedly. His spouse trembled viciously in his grip and Steve ran his hands up and down the frightfully thin back to soothe his fears; he could feel every bump and ridge in Bucky’s spine, and his chest constricted painfully as he took stock of how desperately thin Bucky really was. He felt his lungs quivering in his chest as he struggled to hold onto himself for a moment longer. Bucky needed him. He couldn’t slip into another asthma attack. He needed him sane, he needed him strong.

Bucky had always been the strong one in their relationship; now it was Steve’s turn to take up the mantle and guide his husband back to him.

“Bucky… shh, shh... Bucky it’s okay…” Steve murmured; he ran his lips along Bucky’s scalp, nuzzling the top of his head for a moment before he looked down at him. Bucky was shaking like a leaf in his arms, his thin back wracked with sobs as he clung to him like his life depended on it. Steve could feel his husband’s fingertips digging into his ribs, and he fought the urge to wince at the ache his bony fingers left behind in his sides. Bucky needed this; fuck, Bucky needed the _world_ right now, to show him that everything would be alright again. He’d never be hurt again, as long as Steve lived, and Steve had every intention on proving that to him no matter what. “I’m here… I’m always gonna be here, I’m never leaving you again. I won’t let anything happen to you baby…” he repeated his mantra, over and over again as he buried his face in his unruly hair a third time.

“St-tevie… Stevie I’m… I’m so s-sorry…” Bucky whimpered; he scrubbed his face against the collar of Steve’s shirt, drying his tears away on the cotton before he found it in himself to look up at him. When he did, Steve saw splotches of red and pink on his face, the reddened apples of his cheeks and salty water-tracks on his skin as he met his gaze in a haze of Valium; his eyes were bloodshot and red, the lids beneath his eyes puffy from the drug in his system. But the gaze that met Steve was nothing short of desperate, longing, and a bit doubtful. “I’m so sorry… please d-don’t… don’t let me go back there. _Please,_ please don’t… let me go back there again...” he begged, his tone wavering as he implored his spouse to keep him safe.

How desperately, Bucky begged to be kept safe in the wake of his nightmare. Steve couldn’t believe that his husband would think, even for a brief moment, that he would let him get taken away like that again. “Never baby! Oh my God, never!” Steve replied, his voice cracking violently as he stared down at him sadly. He cupped the side of Bucky’s face tenderly, running his thumb along the apple of his cheek as he watched him lovingly. “I’m not going to let you go back there. I swear to you, I’m going to keep you safe, baby... “

Bucky listened to him, his eyes flickering across his features for a long moment. After a time, his gaze turned a little colder, a little more untrusting, and he leaned back from him.

“Are you really here…” he asked suddenly. HIs shoulders tensed as he pulled out of his grip, shying away from Steve’s touch as he eyed him up suspiciously. “I know... wh-what they gave me... They think I’m c-crazy. Am I crazy?” Bucky paused, looking down at his lap as his shoulders trembled. “I feel like it…” Nervously, Bucky tucked his arms into his sides, wrapping them around his torso as he curled away from his touches and shied back into the wall behind him, as if the wall could offer some sort of protection Steve couldn’t.

Steve felt as if someone had stabbed him right through the heart. He watched in sorrow as Bucky shied away from him; while this time it wasn’t the violent, panicked fear that kept him from his arms, this mistrust and doubt ate a hole in Steve until he felt his own eyes burning hot with fresh tears. Steve sniffed loudly, shaking his head before he scooted closer to him. He could feel the button of his jeans pocket digging into his backside as he scooted across the floor, but he took the dull ache as a sign that this was real... this was real life. Bucky didn’t trust him. What the fuck had this maniac done to get Bucky to distrust him so thoroughly? “No baby, I’m here. I swear I’m right here.” He croaked, finding his tongue thick in his mouth and his throat drying up in his upset.

But no matter how hard he tried to get Bucky to look at him, his spouse just wouldn’t meet his gaze a moment longer. “Bucky…” Steve tried again, hoping that he could break through this skepticism and get him to _see._ He was here... he wasn’t ever going away again. “Bucky… baby…”

But Bucky just wouldn’t look at him. Steve knew… it was dangerous… but he had to break through to him somehow, and the only way that seemed that would happen is if he took a chance, and really opened up to Bucky, instead of hiding behind his own doubts. Without waiting for his words, Steve reached out to him; he gently clasped Bucky’s wrist in his hand and pulled his arm closer to him. Bucky didn’t flinch away from him this time, but he could feel the hesitance in his limb, as if he were preparing himself to bolt if he felt it safe. Steve didn’t give him that option.

Instead, he pulled Bucky’s hand closer to himself, and with a gentle brush, ran Bucky’s fingers over his own face. He allowed Bucky’s hand to caress his cheek, his brow, his nose, and his jaw in slow, even brushes, and he smiled a little as he felt Bucky’s fingers relaxing. “You know me baby… you remember this scar right?” He asked, feeling Bucky’s fingers brush over a little ridge on his chin. “This was the scar that Frankie Schwartz gave me in third grade. Remember him? He was pushing that little girl around on the playground?”

Bucky stared at him, allowing Steve to brush his fingers over his skin in soothing touches; his eyes widened a fraction as the old memory came filtering back into his mind, rusty and cold, but still a recollection he could finally relate to. “... y-yeah... I remember… You…” Bucky paused, licking his lower lip as he brought forth the memory, piece by piece. “You told him to pick on someone his own size… so he pushed you down into the mud, and you cut your chin on a piece of glass…”

Steve smiled, and broke into a relieved sob. “Y-yes! Yeah, that’s right. That was the day we first met. I was trying not to cry, and you helped me to the nurse so she could patch me up. You said I was the dumbest kid you ever saw.”

Steve remembered that experience all too well; he remembered crying as he struggled to pull his inhaler out of his pocket, and hearing a soft voice speak above him. When he’d looked up, he saw the most beautiful little boy he’d ever met, and knew he wanted to be with him forever. “We were never apart after that…”

Bucky listened to the final details of that memory, and his eyes brightened in recognition. He looked right into Steve’s eyes, meeting his gaze for a long moment before he scooted closer across the carpeting. Folding himself into Steve’s arms, Bucky practically crawled into his lap, so much smaller than Steve had remembered him. Steve could only guess that Bucky was, minimum, 30 pounds underweight now. How easily he could fit in his arms, when he used to hold Steve so close, safe and warm…

Steve smiled down at him through his tears, and curled around him. The two of them rocked in each other’s arms, with Bucky’s full weight pressed into Steve’s chest. After a moment, Steve scooted backwards, leaning his spine against the bed behind him. He stretched his legs out, allowing Bucky plenty of space to curl up on his lap. To his relief, Bucky did take the bait, stretching out in Steve’s arms as he lay across his lap. Never once did his arms cease their curl around his waist and he buried his face in Steve’s stomach for comfort and warmth. “That’s right… I’m here Bucky. I’ll always be here for you…” Steve reassured him, his voice barely above a whisper as he brushed his fingers through the soft hair in his lap.

The two of them lay like this for the longest time, surrounded by nothing and the slow trek of time around them; neither spoke as Bucky lay in his lap, his head pressed into Steve’s stomach, desperate for attention. Minutes ticked by and the two remained unbothered by anyone around as they reconnected after so many years apart. Steve hummed a gentle tune under his breath as he ran his fingers through Bucky’s hair, feeling the fine strands with his fingertips and really taking stock of their health; the strands were far too delicate and brittle for his liking. This concerned him greatly; Bucky always had thick, lush hair, and the feathery strands he could feel in his hand were worrisome. Dr. Pierce had said that Bucky was severely malnourished… perhaps this had something to do with his thinning hair as well.

Just as his mind wandered over these possibilities, there came a knock at the door. Steve and Bucky both looked up to see a nurse entering the room; she was young looking, as if she had just been recently hired on staff there, and she looked to the patient with faintly nervous eyes. Steve could feel Bucky tensing up in his grip, and he looked down at him with calm eyes. “Shh, baby… it’s okay. It’s just the nurse.” Steve murmured; this wasn’t a good combination. A nervous husband and a skittish nurse in the same room together couldn’t possibly end well. Hoping to placate the situation before it got out of hand, he looked back up at the nurse in question, and he smiled a little as he begged her with his eyes to stay put. “Yes? Can I help you?”

The nurse frowned and looked up at Steve, her plush lower lip caught between her teeth. “Beg your pardon, sir but… we’ve been instructed to bring him food.” She murmured quietly; she didn’t seem to want to come any further into the room. Perhaps, Dr. Pierce hadn’t told Steve everything… perhaps Bucky had already lashed out at the nurses there, and scared quite a bit of them away… God, Steve hoped that Bucky hadn’t accidentally hurt anyone…

Instead, he focused on her statement, his mind recalling the time; Steve looked up at the clock, and saw that lunchtime had rolled right around, and he was surprised to find he hadn’t even realized it; Steve had been in that room for a couple hours already, and he hadn’t even noticed the time passing. “Oh… yes, of course…” he looked down at Bucky and leaned closer to him, brushing his hair back from his forehead. “Do you want something to eat, baby? Do you feel hungry?”

Bucky looked up at him, his eyes pleading and his lip wavering. A low rumble echoed from the pit of his hollow stomach at the thought of food, and he slowly sat up. “Yes… but I don’t want her in here…” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. He shot the nurse a nervous look, shying away from her as she approached the center of the room on tentative feet. “Make her go away please…” he begged; his voice hedged on a whine, and he looked down at his knees, curling into himself once again as he hid his face away from the nurse. “I don’t want… anymore drugs…”

“Hey, hey…” Steve cooed. He scooted closer to him and wrapped his arms around his shoulders, giving Bucky’s arms a gentle, loving squeeze. “It’s okay, they’re not gonna give you anymore drugs. They just want to give you some food. If you want, I’ll make sure you eat, alright? She won’t stay in here.” He looked up at the nurse as he spoke, shooting her a look that spoke his intentions: he wanted the nurse to leave his tray in here. Steve would take care of him. He’d never let someone else touch Bucky again, if he could possibly help it.

It seemed that that was the answer she wanted to hear; giving Steve a grateful nod, she gave her patient one more, scared look, and darted from the room. When she returned, she set the tray down on the foot of the bed, and nodded to Steve thankfully before beating another hasty retreat. This time, the door locked behind her, and the two were left alone once again, surrounded by the quiet din of pure silence around them.

When Steve was sure that they were both alone, he looked up to the bed and saw the tray sitting out for him. On it, sat two plates of food; one plate held a pile of plain white rice and chicken meat and the other had an array of dehydrated fruits and vegetables. Next to the plates, a bottle of protein drink, and a glass of what Steve could only assume was whole milk stood, waiting for Bucky. He stared at the tray for a moment, hoping to God this went well, before he pulled it closer to himself; the tray slid easily across the bedding, and he picked it up with careful hands, holding it out to Bucky for him to take his choice. “Eat what you can, okay? You don’t have to finish it all if you don’t want…” he murmured, smiling reassuringly at the brunet in front of him.

Bucky looked up from the curl of his legs, and stared at the tray suspiciously for a long moment. After a long beat, he reached out a thin arm and picked up the plate that had the rice and meat on it. He stared down at the plate in front of him, seeming to struggle with himself before he set it in the cradle of his lap. He looked up at Steve and stared into his eyes for a moment before he could find it in himself to speak again. “Do they... is there a fork?” he asked, his voice timid and small. He sounded as if he was in the wrong, asking for something so simple, and he immediately looked away from him the moment he’d uttered his question, ashamed of such a stupid, silly question in the first place.

Steve forced himself to smile; how it broke his heart to see Bucky looking miserable as he asked for the permission to feed himself in such a simple manner. Without saying a word, Steve held up the small, plastic fork that had been provided; secretly, he was grateful they had thought to bring plastic and not metal. He didn’t want to think what might happen if Bucky decided to suddenly turn the utensil on himself in front of Steve without warning; the thought of Bucky harming himself so horribly, made his stomach turn and his lips go numb with worry. Still, he kept his expression calm as he watched Bucky reach out and take the fork from him, holding it in and over-handed grip.

With little grace, Bucky scooped up a large pile of rice and chicken chunks, balancing the food on the tongs of the fork for a moment as he stared at it. He didn’t move for the longest moment, and Steve wondered if Bucky would change his mind; he honestly wouldn’t blame him if he did… he just prayed that Bucky would eventually learn to feed himself again, if only to keep himself from falling sick and deathly weak with the lack of nutrition.

Then, just as he feared that Bucky would really change his mind and put the plate down without touching the food, he watched Bucky stuff the fork into his mouth and begin to chew around the food with a desperate, frustrated intention. Steve watched with bated breath as his husband attempted to eat the food they had brought him, his fingers crossed in his lap as he waited...

Suddenly, Bucky gagged around the food in his mouth, his pale face going ashen for a moment as he looked ready to vomit all over himself. He covered his mouth with his hand and spat the partially masticated ball of food into his hand and shoved the plate away from himself. Pearls of rice and chicken flew across the carpeting with the force of his throw and Steve lunged away as Bucky threw the mess in his hand across the room with a scream. Steve gasped, stunned by the sudden outburst and frightened of what he was seeing. He watched as Bucky curled up around his knees and shoved his back against the wall with a loud ‘thud’; Bucky buried his face in his legs as he broke out into a throaty wail, his fingers digging into his calves as he shivered in disgust. “It’s horrible! It’s hot, _it’s not supposed to be hot_!” he shouted, hiding his face from Steve as his shoulders quaked with the force of his weeping.

Steve stared at him, his heart racing in his chest as he tried to understand what had happened. He stared down in shock at the food that had been scattered across the floor; reaching out, Steve touched the discarded plate, his mind struggling to find the only explanation that would make sense. The glass was still fairly warm from the preparation, and with a sinking dread, he realized what exactly the issue was.

Bucky had spent so long eating raw, bloody meat, that anything else he tried to feed himself would be rejected outright.

Frightened tears coursed down his cheeks as he looked up at his sobbing husband, unsure if he should touch him again. But the pain of seeing his spouse in such agony and distress, just sat ill with him, and he couldn’t force himself to sit back. Instead, Steve slid across the carpeting, ignoring the feeling of damp food soaking into his jeans’ leg, and wrapped himself around his spouse’s trembling body. Instantly, he felt Bucky curl into his arms and bury his face into his chest as he wept like a child, ashamed and terrified of these changes that were occurring so rapidly in this one day. “It’s okay, Bucky... it’s alright. You tried, that’s all that matters…” Steve whispered, rubbing his palm up and down Bucky’s shoulder as he kissed his cheek tenderly; Steve didn’t honestly know if he could remain strong for long, but for Bucky’s sake, Steve held tightly to his resolve, intent on keeping his promise to Bucky no matter what. It was the only thing he could do. “It’s okay... don’t cry baby…”

Bucky whimpered, burying himself further into Steve’s arms as he wept. “I’m so broken... I’m not supposed to be here… I’m not supposed to be here!” He sniffled, digging his fingertips into Steve’s shirt for purchase.

Steve shushed him again, looking up to the one-way glass once again. He didn’t know if the others were still there, but for the sake of Bucky’s feelings, he hoped not. He knew he wouldn’t want someone witnessing his weakest moments if he were in Bucky’s place, and something as simple as a meal throwing Bucky’s emotions into complete disarray would definitely not be something he would want witnessed. But they’d been in here for so long now, Steve would be surprised if Sam and Dr. Pierce had stayed to watch; at least that much was comforting. “You’re not broken, baby… you’re alright. And you _are_ supposed to be here. You survived so long, baby… so long without anyone around. You’re so strong, Bucky... and I’m so fucking proud of you…” he whimpered his last statement, closing his eyes as he pressed his cheek to Bucky’s shoulder. “But... you _need_ to eat, babe… I’m scared you’re gonna get sick if you don’t.”

When Bucky shook his head violently at the thought of food, Steve relaxed slightly, looking up at him with newfound determination. “You don’t have to eat it all… just a bite. Okay? Just a bite?” Without moving from his spot, Steve reached out and grabbed the second plate, scooting it across the carpet towards him. Bucky couldn’t eat the hot food… but maybe he could manage a bit of the fruit instead.

Plucking up a piece of dried apricot from the plate, Steve held it out to Bucky, looking down at him with a hopeful look. “Try this. Just a bite baby... then I won’t make you eat anything else.”

Bucky didn’t move for a long moment; when he finally did look up, he stared at the piece of fruit for a second, as if gauging if it was safe to eat. Tentatively, he reached out and took the dried fruit from him, holding it between his fingertips for a second, before leaning in and taking a bite of the fruit. It squished between his incisors, but this time he didn’t gag around it; Steve didn’t want to think what small animal it sounded like to Bucky, being torn apart by his teeth as he desperately tried to feed himself for five years.

Bucky managed to nibble his way through the piece of fruit, though it did take him a few minutes to manage; when he’d finished the piece, he curled into Steve’s chest again, looking up at him with huge, hopeful eyes as he waited to see if his stomach would handle it. “There… I did it…” he murmured, hope in his eyes that he’d done something right this time.

“Good...  very good!” Steve praised him, smiling a bright smile down at his spouse as he rubbed his arm gently in reassurance; he picked up a piece of dried apple this time, and held it out to Bucky with a little more confidence this time. “That’s very good. Can you try one more bite? Just one more? If you can’t, you can stop. I promise.”

Bucky shot him a suspicious look before he eyed up the piece of apple carefully. He reached out again, and plucked the apple from his hands. Taking the slice to his lips, Bucky carefully nibbled on the fleshy piece, and the crunch of the fibers echoed in the room around him. He managed to finish it in less time than the apricot, and his appetite slowly came back to him bit by bit.

Steve didn’t rush him. He only encouraged him slowly, urging Bucky to take more and more bites of the fruit in front of him. Each time, he promised Bucky that he could stop at any moment and each time, Bucky’s hunger grew more ravenous as he worked his way through the dried fruit with growing eagerness.

The chicken and rice lay forgotten on the floor, but Steve didn’t care in the slightest; he felt that Bucky had made a huge leap of progress in such a short amount of time and that was all he cared about. He kept trying to urge his husband on to continue eating, certain that Bucky would stop at any moment.

Bucky managed to finish the whole plate.

* * *

 

Steve had stayed the whole day in Bucky’s room with him the afternoon of his discovery, never straying more than a few feet away from the skittish man as he got Bucky used to being around him again. The two of them had remained close to each other’s sides the whole day and night as Bucky acclimated to having Steve with him once again; Steve had even managed to get Bucky to sit quietly with him as he read him a few chapters of one of the books on the shelf; the comfort between them was almost normal as Bucky curled into Steve’s side, cuddling up to him for warmth as Steve’s voice murmured quietly in the still room around them, punctuated only by the rustle of the pages turning in their book.

As night fell over the quiet city around them, Steve happily slept in the large bed with his husband, allowing Bucky to curl around his side the entire night; while they had remained mostly undisturbed during their bonding, Steve had woken in the middle of the night to one of the nurses coming in to check on their patient’s health. It had taken every ounce of strength in him not to scream in terror when, in a sleepy state of mind, he feared that the mystery kidnapper had returned to take his husband away again; a few hushed words passed between them, and Steve’s panic quickly faded away to embarrassment, his arms loosening around Bucky’s shoulders as he scooted back enough to let the nurse do her job. Oddly enough, Bucky slept through the whole ordeal, his face buried in Steve’s chest as the nurse checked his wounds and his temperature for any signs of lingering sickness. To Steve’s relief, it seemed that whatever little food he had managed to get Bucky to eat had done its job. Bucky’s temperature had leveled out to a comfortable warm, and his pallor had easily darkened from the sickly pale he’d been, to a more reassuring tone in the low lights of the room around them.

When morning came, however, Steve realized that perhaps the road to recovery was a lot longer than he thought. After speaking with Dr. Pierce of his intentions on staying at the Institution for the duration of Bucky’s recovery, he knew he had to return home, just long enough to fetch a suitcase of clothing; when Sam and Natasha had both regretfully declined his request that they bring him clothing, Steve knew he had no choice but to go himself.

He had promised Bucky he’d only be gone a few hours, but the brunet had panicked in light of his departure, and clung to him desperately, screaming for Steve not to leave him, as he wept into his chest in agony. It had taken two nurses and Dr. Pierce to sedate Bucky long enough for Steve to extract himself from his clutches and make the hour drive home it would take him to fetch a small suitcase of clothing and toiletries, and to take Sarge to Natasha’s house to keep watch over the dog while he was gone. Steve had been so guilt ridden for leaving Bucky alone even that long, he broke the speed limit the whole way back. He prayed he didn’t get pulled over by officers for a speeding ticket; to his utter relief, he did not.

By the time he had returned, Bucky had come back to his senses, and had curled up into the corner of the room once again, weeping loudly into his hands as he muttered terrified utterances in Russian into the still room around him. The nurses had informed Steve that Bucky had been almost completely unresponsive to any of their approaches the duration of his absence and had only just begun speaking again, shortly before he returned. Horror stricken that his absence had been so sorely felt by his husband for even just a couple of hours, Steve curled right back up on the floor with him, rocking his spouse in his arms and reassuring him that he was back and he was not leaving him again.

The days had been long and tiresome, but Steve had full confidence that with his presence, Bucky would make a full recovery. The first whole day since his run home, Bucky had stayed close to his side, refusing to look at anything or anyone other than Steve. He managed to eat another plate of fruits and vegetables again, but the attempt had taken him almost a full day to manage. By day two, Bucky managed to eat two plates of food, and Steve’s experimental separation from Bucky lasted a bit longer before the brunet broke down into tears again (he’d only gone into the observation room, but he remained in there for nearly twenty minutes, watching his husband’s progress, before he had to slip back into the room just as Bucky broke down into another frantic fit again).

A week passed since Steve found Bucky again, and his progress only grew as each day went on. As the hours clicked by, Steve helped Bucky get used to eating real food again, introducing him back to hot meals and urging him to take only as many bites as he thought he could manage. After day 5, Bucky could finish a whole plate of food on his own, and had even managed to drink his protein shake and milk without feeling sick. Steve could take longer moments away from Bucky (again, only going as far as the observation room should anything go awry), and as the moments passed, Bucky grew used to being without Steve again; it was always with the promise that Steve _would_ come back to him again, but Steve couldn’t shake how delighted he was that Bucky was improving so rapidly.

By day 7, Steve watched with a proud heart as Bucky managed to keep to himself in the bedroom for a solid four hours while Steve observed him from the other side of the one-way glass. He even managed to feed himself, completely alone, when the nurses came to bring him his meal again.

Steve sat forward in his seat, adjusting his glasses as he watched Bucky actually sit at the table provided in the room and eat without complaint, filling himself with the nutrients he’d been missing out on for so long. Before this moment, Bucky had only ever sat on the floor, his back tucked protectively into the wall as he ate and always looked to Steve for approval for his eating habits. This time, he didn’t even look to the one-way glass that held the observatory on the other side; his attention remained solely on his task and he sat with his back straight in the chair as he carefully lifted the fork to his lips and fed himself without hesitation. Steve felt a swell of pride in his chest as he watched his husband coping so quickly with his reintroduction back into the world, and a satisfied smile crossed his lips and he leaned back in his seat to watch him from afar.

“It’s extraordinary,” A voice cut in, startling Steve from his thoughts. He looked up to see Dr. Pierce watching from the doorway; the doctor’s attention remained on the glass as he stared at his patient with a mixture of awe and shock on his face.

“What’s extraordinary?” Steve asked, turning in his seat to face the doctor. He extended his hand to him in greeting, and the two shook hands as they turned their attention back to the room before them.

“His progress. It’s only been a week since his reintroduction back into the real world, and his progress is reflecting the therapy results of _months’_ worth of work,” Dr. Pierce replied. He sat down next to Steve, and turned to face him. “We can’t understand why he’s progressing so quickly, though I can’t say we’re complaining much at all.” Dr. Pierce went silent, looking out of the corner of his eye back to Steve as he flashed him a smile. “You’ve done an impossibly wonderful thing, Mr. Barnes. What you’ve done in bringing him back, is nothing short of a miracle.”

Steve flushed red, rubbing his hand along the back of his neck as he listened to the doctor compliment him; while he should have taken the praise for what it was, he felt uncomfortable accepting such acclaim from the doctor to his right. He hadn’t done anything but what he should have done as a husband; Bucky had done the rest. “No… It’s not me,” he said, looking up at him. “I didn’t do any of this. Bucky did it all on his own. I just held his hand through it all. He’s the real hero in this situation, not me.”

Dr. Pierce only hummed in response, looking down at his clipboard with a small smile. “I see. I suppose if you put it that way it makes sense.” He paused, looking up at him. “You know there are people who are going to want this for the news. A survivor’s story, something to tell an uplifting, promising account to others who may have experienced something similar in their lives.”

Almost instantly, Steve’s shoulders tensed and he looked up at the doctor next to him; an irrational, wild anger bubbled up in his chest at the notion, and he grit his teeth in irritation at the suggestion. Like fucking hell, was he going to let a bunch of interviewers shove their microphones in Bucky’s face and make him recount everything he went through. It wasn’t their story to tell. It was Bucky’s experience, and he didn’t want anyone forcing his husband to tell them anything he didn’t want to. “No.” he said simply, turning his attention back to the room. “They can’t do that to Bucky. It’s not fair of anyone to expect Bucky to open up and talk about that shit.”

Dr. Pierce lifted his hand to him, and placated his anger with a calming gesture. “I completely agree with you, Mr. Barnes. I’m not advocating that anyone interview Bucky without his permission. As of right now, he’s still in our care, and should be for at least another month. During that time, he’s completely untouchable. You have my promise, he’s not going to be bothered by anyone that he doesn’t want to speak to.”

Despite his anger, Steve relaxed at that promise, and he slumped back into his seat with a sigh. A crashing wave of relief washed over him and he rubbed his fingers along his temples to quell the headache threatening to consume him as he allowed himself to believe the promise the doctor gave him. No one was going to touch Bucky. There was no way his image was going to get out there to the world again. Steve knew it was irrational, but his fear that the kidnapper was still out there somewhere bothered him greatly, and the thought of Bucky’s face being plastered all over the news only brought back the fear that this maniac would somehow find Bucky and come back to take him away again. Steve couldn’t stomach that thought, and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat as he tried to ease the nervous nausea that wanted to take hold of him at that moment.

The two of them fell silent again; they watched carefully as Bucky finished his meal in silence, and pushed the plate away from himself across the table. But as they observed the other quietly, Steve saw Bucky’s attention suddenly divert to the other side of the room, his eyes locked on the far corner for a long moment. Steve blinked and leaned over in his seat, watching his husband as he carefully got up from his seat and padded over to the far side of the room. He stopped just at the edge of the observatory’s window frame, half of his face obscured by the dividing wall of the rooms as he continued to stare into the corner with rapt intention.

As the doctor and Steve surveyed the scene before them, the speakers in the room suddenly crackled to life with a low, humming static and soon after, Bucky’s voice broke over the low din of white noise; he was speaking in Russian again, but instead of the seemingly incoherent babble they were used to hearing, this time… this time it sounded as if Bucky were actually speaking a complete sentence to the corner of the room. He paused, as if waiting for someone else to speak, but no other voice came. Instead, Bucky spoke up again, seemingly responding to something he heard. His voice lilted into a questioning phrase, and fell silent again.

Steve stared at his husband’s back for a moment, his brows knitting in confusion. Suddenly, Bucky broke into a fit of giggles and he darted away from the corner of the room, his arms wrapped around his torso as he laughed wildly. Steve jumped at the sudden outburst of noise coming from the room’s speakers, and he stared at his husband in surprise. “He… he’s laughing… like someone tickled him,” he said, his voice hedged in disbelief. Suddenly, every instance of progressed Bucky seemed to be making seemed to come screeching to a halt in Steve’s mind, as he stared at his laughing spouse from the safety of the separating glass. Bucky, still snickering loudly, suddenly jumped up onto the bed across the room and curled up at the head of the mattress, his smiling face still trained on the far wall with delight. As he watched, Steve got up and walked to the window to get a good look into the room. Was he speaking to a nurse? Had they not heard anyone come in?

But there was no one in the far side of the room. The door was shut, the handle turned in just the right position that told Steve the room was still locked. There was no one in the room with Bucky, and yet his husband was still talking to the wall, laughing and smiling as he held a seemingly humorous, one-sided conversation with absolutely no one there.

Just as suddenly as the odd behavior began, Bucky ceased laughing, his smile fading away slightly as he cuddled contentedly with the pillow in his arms. He rested his head against the wall, still staring at the empty room in front of him as he finally ceased talking; the static that had filled the speaker faded away to nothing, and the room went quiet once again, leaving Steve standing at the window watching the occurrence come to an end with wide, confused eyes.

“What…” he paused, swallowing thickly as he looked back at the doctor. “What the fuck was that?” he managed to choke out; turning on his heel, Steve looked back at the doctor. He was disturbed to find that Dr. Pierce didn’t look surprised by this outburst at all. “What the hell just happened?”

Dr. Pierce stared into the room, his eyes on his patient as he heaved a small sigh. “Mr. Barnes, have you noticed any odd behavior from Bucky since his return?” Dr. Pierce asked. He stood from his seat and approached the wary spouse standing in front of him, his expression carefully neutral. “Any... seemingly delusional moments. Any memory relapses? Has he woken you up at all in the middle of the night, talking to himself or anything of the sort?”

Steve stared at him for a long moment, his brows knitting together as he listened to him. What the fuck did this have to do with anything? “Uhm, so like this whole thing hasn’t been one big, weird event to begin with, that I’m supposed to point out anything odd at all to you?” Steve asked, his voice hedging on irritated as he spoke. “No, I haven’t. Not other than what we’ve already seen. This is a new thing; I’ve never, _ever_ seen him do something like this since he’s been back.” He finished his statement, crossing his arms over his chest as he waited for an explanation to the odd question.

Dr. Pierce listened, nodding carefully. He looked back down at his charts and motioned for the door. “Come with me. Bucky should be getting drowsy soon.”

“What?” Steve asked, sounding a little scandalized at the statement; his eyes widened in surprise and his arms dropped to his side as he waited for the doctor’s explanation to such an odd declaration. “What do you mean, ‘drowsy’?”

Dr. Pierce paused with his hand on the door knob, and he smiled a little. “We noticed something in our surveillance recordings that seems to have cropped up over the past couple of nights. We’ve slipped him a sedative in his food to get him to sleep this afternoon.”

Steve’s jaw dropped open as he stared at him utter shock. “You _drugged_ him without telling me?!” Steve asked, sounding thoroughly horrified at that statement. His horror quickly melted into anger and he stormed up to the doctor, cornering him into the room with a furious glare. “What the fuck do you mean, you drugged him?! That’s fucking illegal! The fuck are you people _doing_?!”

“Mr. Barnes, Bucky hasn’t been sleeping the past couple of nights. It’s the lowest dose of Valium we could give him, just to loosen him up a bit and get him to sleep some.” Dr. Pierce defended, holding his hands up to him. “Besides… I think you need to see what we’ve discovered.”

Steve hesitated, staring at the doctor for a long moment before he took a step back. “Is he going to be okay by himself?” he asked, sounding unconvinced. He crossed his arms over his chest again, leveling the doctor with a scowl. It was one thing to treat his husband, but to drug Bucky without telling him? Steve didn't care what the fuck kind of therapy Bucky needed. That was no way to go about it, sneaking drugs into his food and confusing him any more than he already was!

“I assure you he’ll be fine. Look,” Dr. Pierce said, gesturing over to the window. “He’s already dozing off now.”

Steve turned, his eyes ghosting over to Bucky. Sure enough, Bucky looked like he was already slipping under the pull of the drugs, his eyes heavy and his head lolling forward. Steve watched as Bucky succumbed to the drugs, falling into a deep sleep as he curled up on the bed, his arms still wrapped tightly around the pillow at his chest. Steve stared at him for a moment, his heart thundering angrily in his chest; fuck he hated this. Seeing Bucky just… slipping away under the draw of medication he didn’t want, sat ill with Steve, and an angry bubble formed in his chest, ready to pop and send him screaming into a fit at the entire staff at large. Whatever the fuck Pierce was going to show him, it had better be good.

“Fine… show me. Then I’m going back in there to check on him.” Steve said, turning his attention back to the doctor in furious finality. Their gazes met for a long moment, neither man moving as they tempted each other with their own, defiant gazes.

Dr. Pierce broke first; he nodded and opened the door for the blond, gesturing to the hallway and then following Steve out when he stepped out into the fluorescent lit entry before him. Without saying a word, the doctor led Steve down the hall towards his office, where he let him inside; once the two were in the room, Dr. Pierce locked the door behind them and gestured to his computer. “Sit down. We’ve recorded the past couple of nights of Bucky’s sleep patterns, after the attending nurse reported back sounds and talking coming from the room late at night.”

Dr. Pierce sat down at his computer and turned it on, queueing up a video recording on the monitor. He gestured the room, which was lit by night vision capture, and turned the screen to Steve. “We’ve noticed that the sort of behavior you’ve just witnessed… well, it’s become a regular thing.”

Steve listened, his eye still trained untrusting on the doctor as he leaned in to watch the screen. Instantly, memories of five years prior came to mind, as he relived the moment of watching Bucky from the other side of a video camera. A sick sensation filled his stomach, and he swallowed as he stared at the screen as the video began to play; his fingers tightened on the arms of his chair, and he fought back the wild panic that threatened to consume him again. He fucking hated this, seeing his husband on the other side of a camera, unable to intervene if anything bad happened. It was that night all over again... Fuck he couldn’t stand it!

As his eyes locked on the screen, Steve was relieved to find that this recording was much less frightening than the first one that had started his mad search five years ago. This one was a recording of the night before, and it seemed fairly normal for the first couple of minutes. Steve could see that it was just the two of them, curled up in the bed together with Bucky’s head resting on Steve’s chest and their arms wrapped around each other as they slept peacefully together. This lasted for a few minutes; when Steve felt as if this video may be a waste of however long they had recorded the two of them, he found himself surprised to see Bucky suddenly sit up and stare into the far side of the room with a disturbing intensity. Steve noticed, with an uncomfortable realization, that it was the same wall Bucky had been staring at just a few minutes prior.

On the screen, Bucky stared at the wall for a moment before a clear, almost manic smile crossed his lips. Steve watched as the brunet crawled out of the bed without so much as waking Steve up, and snuck over the far side of the wall on light feet. With the position of the camera, they got a clear shot of where Bucky was standing and to Steve’s shock, Bucky was standing just a couple scant feet away from the far wall, close enough that he could reach out and touch the smooth surface with his fingers. He was staring at the wall for a long moment, before he began to talk, his voice low and hushed as he spoke in Russian to the wall.

“Bucky… babe, what the hell are you doing?” he murmured, his eyes narrowing at the screen in front of him; he leaned closer, willing Bucky to return to the bed and make this whole, disturbing situation come to an end. That didn’t happen.

Steve watched with growing distress as Bucky’s actions became more animated, his voice growing just slightly louder as he spoke to the wall. He dropped down to sit cross-legged on the floor, and he waved his arms in vague context to whatever he was possibly talking about in that foreign tongue of his. His voice paused every few beats, as if he listened to another person speaking, before he would resume talking again. With each moment Bucky spoke, his voice became lighter and happier sounding, almost humored as he conversed with the blank wall in front of him. Steve strained to make out any shapes in the video that may not have been caught by the night vision, praying that he saw something or _someone_ standing just in the shadows that could explain what the fuck Bucky was doing… but much to his disappointment and worry, there was nothing. There wasn't even the sound of a second voice in the room; just that same, odd white noise he’d heard earlier, and his own even breathing captured by the camera’s microphone as he slept on, completely oblivious to what was happening just a few feet away from him.

This lasted for several long minutes, a time lapse that Steve watched in confused silence; he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the screen as his fingers flexed nervously in his lap. He didn’t understand what he was seeing, but just witnessing Bucky acting so strangely, had his blood running like ice in his veins and his mind jumbled with every second he watched his husband’s frightening behavior. Just before the video ended, Bucky stood up from the floor and said a single word to the wall; he then wandered back to the bed and crawled under the blankets with Steve again, tucking himself warmly into his side with a satisfied huff of breath. But he didn’t go back to sleep. Instead, Bucky stared at the far wall, his head resting on Steve’s chest while he cuddled up to him, arms around his waist and that same, childish smile plastered on his lips as he watched the blank wall for the duration of the night.

The video cut out, and Dr. Pierce twisted the monitor away from the shell-shocked man in front of him. He steepled his fingers on the desk and leveled Steve with a careful eye before speaking. “So… now that you know what we’ve seen, do you understand why it is we slipped him a sleeping aid, Mr. Barnes?” Dr. Pierce asked, raising a brow at him in question.

Steve continued to stare at the computer monitor, his eyes wide and watery as he tried desperately to comprehend what the fuck he’d just seen. What the hell had _that_ been about? What the hell... what the _hell_ was wrong with his husband, that he was _doing_ something like this?

“What… what is that?” he asked, his voice hitching slightly. He felt several tears run down his cheeks as he looked up at the doctor with wide, pleading eyes. He didn’t care what the fuck Dr. Pierce said now; all he wanted as a logical explanation to this disturbing scene he’d just witnessed. “What the hell is wrong with him? He’s never done this in front of me, not since we brought him back. What’s going on?”

Dr. Pierce plucked his spectacles from his eyes and rubbed his temples for a moment. “After observing him over the past couple of nights, we’ve determined that Bucky is exhibiting latent signs of schizophrenia, Mr. Barnes. The delusions, the hallucinations, the talking to himself... “

“What?” Steve interjected, interrupting the doctor as he listened to him. No… no, no, no… that couldn’t be right. Bucky wasn’t sick… Bucky _couldn’t_ be sick! Steve didn’t know what he’d do if Dr. Pierce confirmed this. It just wasn’t fair… it wasn’t fucking fair! First he’d gone through such a horrifying experience… now this? Why the fuck did God have to do this to both of them?! “S-schizophrenia!? Bucky’s never had that in his life! He wouldn’t have been able to join the ARMY if they determined that he had some sort of mental disorder? Why now?”

“Some people are born with a predisposition to the condition, Mr. Barnes. It may have been a genetic trait in his family that no one knew about, and therefore went undiagnosed. Sometimes traumatic experiences, like the one your husband went through, could possibly trigger the episodes to start occurring.” Dr. Pierce explained, his voice calm and reassuring as he spoke. Without looking down at the desk, he pushed a pamphlet across the wood towards Steve, and continued speaking. “Perhaps, in a small way, it triggered while he was imprisoned, and became his coping mechanism for being alone for so long. Being imprisoned for so long, only speaking to one man who possibly only spoke Russian, and then being left alone… we believe that Bucky may have developed a delusion of someone to keep him company as he dealt with years of solitude in that basement.”

Steve stared at the doctor in disbelief, his eyes darting down to the pamphlet in front of him; his eyes burned sharply as he glanced at it in stomach-turning grief. ‘Coping with Schizophrenia: a guide to caring for loved ones with Schizophrenic disorders’ sat on the desk, seemingly harmless, and mocked Steve with its brightly colored cover and the cheerful image of a man and woman hugging, smiling brightly at the camera that immortalized them on such a vile document. Steve sniffed, wiping his hand underneath his eyes to dry the tears away as he looked up at Dr. Pierce again. “Is it… can it be cured?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. He didn’t trust himself to be able to speak much louder than that at the moment.

Dr. Pierce shook his head, his eyes heavy with disappointment. “Unfortunately it cannot be cured. However, there are ways to manage it and if we begin treatment soon, we can keep it to a controllable state for quite some time. You won’t, then, be forced to put him in an institution or a group home if it got too severe.”

“I’d never do that!” Steve said, his voice raising furiously as he stared at the doctor across from him. How dare the bastard assume Steve would just give up so easily and throw Bucky in a home to be forgotten for life!?  “I’d never put him in a group home. I’d take care of him, until the day we both die! I don’t care how many treatments I have to get for him, I don’t care if I go broke finding him help. I’ll never leave him behind again. I’ll take care of him.” He trailed off breathless from his outburst; he slumped back in his seat as he stared up at the ceiling above him. His mind flashed with the possibilities of what could come to pass, dealing with his husband’s mental state in the future. He didn’t give a shit in the slightest. He’d always take care of Bucky, no matter what. Bucky would do the same for him. Bucky wouldn’t ever put Steve in a group home if he ever fell ill with some mental disorder. Bucky would always take care of him. Steve had no right to do any less for Bucky.

As he came down from his outburst, Dr. Pierce simply smiled at him, his hands loosening as he stood up from the chair. “I think you should reconsider your statement about not being a hero, Mr. Barnes. There aren’t a lot of people willing to take on such a daunting task like this.” Giving Steve a reassuring look, DR. Pierce gestured to the door and walked him to the hallway once again, letting him out to the harshly lit corridor beyond the comfort of his office. “Go back to him. I think when he wakes up, he'll want to see you. Just…” he paused, pressing the pamphlet into Steve’s hands before patting his wrist. “Take this pamphlet. Read it carefully. It’s going to be a long road ahead for you both, and I want you to be as prepared as you possibly can be for what’s to come.”

Steve nodded, forlorn, and looked down at the papers in his hand before stuffing it into his sweatshirt pocket. Nodding his thanks to the doctor, Steve turned and wandered down the hallway back to Bucky’s room, scrubbing his fingers through his hair as he tried to wrap his mind around what he’d just seen. It was too surreal… none of this made any sense. Steve didn’t know, honestly, what he was going to do dealing with Bucky’s mental illness, but like hell was he going to give up, ever. Bucky needed him, and Steve would die, trying to make things right for him again.

Steve made a face, as he brushed his hair back from his forehead. The blond strands felt dirty and greasy, and he sighed in disgust at his own forgotten hygiene. He hadn’t taken a shower in two days, too intent on watching Bucky carefully to think to care for himself. He figured his beard was probably in need of a good trimming too, and he made a mental note that if Bucky was still sleeping when he got back there, he would slip into the shower rooms and clean himself up a bit.

Only when he entered Bucky’s rooms again, using the key the nurses had given him to gain easy access to his spouse’s quarters, he saw Bucky’s eyes were open, and he was staring blearily at the one-way mirror across from him. He was still curled up on the bed, his arms wrapped firmly around the pillow, but instead of seeming content, Bucky looked as if he’d been crying; his cheeks were red again and his eyes looked damp, as if he’d just finished a good sob just moments ago.

“Bucky?” Steve said, catching his spouse’s attention. He saw Bucky look up at him, and all the fear and sadness in his face melt away into delight at the sight of him. “Hey… hey baby…” Steve murmured; he tried, desperately, to keep his features light and friendly. Bucky didn’t need to know, right now, what the doctor’s diagnosis was. He didn’t seem to be in a good state of mind to handle that news…

“Steve.” Bucky murmured groggily; he let go of the pillow at his chest and held his arms out to Steve, begging him like a small child to be held.

Steve felt his chest tighten again at the pleading, innocent look he got from his husband; he quickly locked the door behind him and crossed the room, forgetting instantly about his intentions of a shower. Instead, he stretched out on the bed next to Bucky and pulled his spouse into his arms, wrapping himself around his thin husband protectively to ward off the chill that hung in the air around them. “I'm here baby... what’s wrong? Why were you crying?” he asked, brushing the faint stains of tears from his cheeks once again.

Bucky sniffed a little and looked up at him. He offered up a weak shrug, and looked Steve dead in the eye. “I just missed you. I don’t like it when you’re not here,” he murmured forlornly.

“How come, baby? You’ve been doing so well.” Steve asked, frowning down at him.

Bucky shrugged again. He reached up, and pulled Steve’s glasses from his face. He stared at the frames for a moment, before putting them down on the pillow above their heads. “I dunno… just don’t like it when you go away.” He muttered unhappily.

Steve smiled a little and brushed his fingers along Bucky’s jaw. Bucky looked like he was in need of a shave too. At least his face was beginning to fill out once again. It seemed that the regular meals were doing Bucky wonders, and his weight was going back up to a healthy range in record time. At least something good had come out of all of this, finally. “I’m not going away, Bucky. I just had to talk to the doctor, alright? I’ll always come back to you. I promised you that before, and I’ll always promise you that,” he whispered, his voice tinged with conviction as he cupped his spouse’s cheek tenderly.

Bucky nodded, resting his head on the pillow beneath him; he looked up at Steve, his smile faint and his eyes shining. Suddenly, his expression shifted from content to confused as he stared at Steve’s face. Without a word, he reached up and ran his fingers along Steve’s jaw, feeling the bristles of his beard with his fingertips. “When did you grow a beard?” he asked, looking up at Steve as if he’d never seen the beard before in his life.

Steve felt his stomach clenching up in distress at the question. Immediately, his mind went to the pamphlet folded up in his pocket, and he felt a rush of sadness in his veins. It made sense...  it made so much fucking sense. Bucky didn’t remember that Steve had always had a beard, even after he’d been found again; Bucky really _was_ sick.

Steve closed his eyes, inhaling slowly to quell his own tears before he found the strength to open his eyes. When he did, he looked into Bucky’s gaze, and offered him a small smile. “I've always had it, baby. I had it before you wer-...” he stopped, reconsidering his words. He didn’t think bringing up his kidnapping was such a good idea at the moment and he opted, instead, to rephrase his wording. He didn’t really know if it was for Bucky’s sake, or his own. “...before you left.”

Bucky looked into Steve’s eyes, reading him for a moment. After a minute, his smile returned to his face and he nodded in return. “Oh. Well… I like it. I think you should keep it.” Bucky replied, smiling happily at Steve as he declared his wants to him. He ran his fingers along Steve’s jaw repeatedly, feeling the bristles of his beard against his hand and chuckling at the ticklish sensation on his palm. After a few moments caressing Steve’s jaw, Bucky yawned a little bit, looking somewhat weary as he settled further into the bedding beneath him. “I’m tired, Stevie…”

Steve swallowed the lump in his throat, fighting the urge to cry on the spot. He didn’t know why, but Bucky’s innocent touches, his innocent smile, and the tired, sleepy look that crossed his face just made him want to burst into tears and sob until he fell into an exhausted slumber himself. But he fought back the tears, for Bucky’s sake. Instead, he wrapped his arms around his husband’s shoulders, and pressed a tender kiss to his forehead. “Then sleep, baby... you deserve it. You’re doing so well. You’re getting better. I promise you’re getting better.”

“And we’ll go home soon?” Bucky asked through another yawn. He looked up at Steve, his eyes hopeful as he waited to hear his answer.

Steve paused, considering his words carefully. Dr. Pierce said that Bucky could possibly be ready to go home by the end of the month… that is, unless his treatment here took a turn or he was forced to begin other therapies for his… God, he fucking _hated_ thinking of the word… his possible schizophrenia. But, Bucky didn’t need to know that. Not at that moment, at least.

Instead, Steve just nodded, wrapping his arms protectively around his spouse’s shoulders once again. He felt Bucky cuddle into his chest, burying himself into the warm cocoon of his arms, and he smiled down at him; he couldn't have been more grateful that Bucky couldn’t see the agony burning in his eyes at that moment. “Yeah… we’ll go home soon…”

* * *

 

January rolled around New York, and the skies outside remained bleary and gray, harkening the slow progress that marched on day by day in the Rockland Institute. Ever since Steve and Dr. Pierce’s conversation in the observation room, Bucky’s progress had ceased almost altogether; if Steve had his say on the matter, he could have sworn that Bucky had actually _regressed_ since the doctor’s untimely diagnosis was given.

Once the doctor was convinced that Bucky’s condition could only be classified as schizophrenia, the brunet in question had been put on a regimen of Thorazine three times a day, and Steve watched with growing dismay as Bucky’s seemingly quick turnaround came to a screeching halt. He couldn't shake how wrong it felt that just two weeks prior, his husband had been lively, almost cheerful in his presence. Now, Steve woke up every day to a lethargic spouse, temper tantrums that cropped up out of nowhere and fits of sobs that came unprovoked at any turn. Steve feared that as each moment passed and each bad behavior was logged by the nurses on a daily basis, Bucky would never see the outside of the Institute ever again.

Still, Dr. Pierce insisted that his husband’s new medication would only do him good in the end. It was true, despite Steve’s misgivings for the medicine that gave Bucky such horrible mood swings every day, it seemed that since his strict regimen of medication had started, Bucky had actually stopped seeing things in the room when he was alone, and he’d begun sleeping through the night, instead of crawling out of the bed to speak to the walls.

Sure, it stopped the hallucinations… but did it honestly have to come at the price of his energy and his smile?

Two weeks after his medications had started, Steve insisted that Sam come in when he could to speak to his husband outside of Bucky’s therapy sessions with Dr. Pierce; he had had to ask permission from him to have his friend try his own therapy tricks on his friend, and after much head-butting with the practitioner on staff, it was agreed that Sam could come into Bucky’s room with Steve and try out any mental exercises he could think of to bring Bucky’s mind back to a state of semi-calm.

It was a Thursday afternoon when Steve lost almost total faith in Dr. Pierce’s treatment protocols. After Bucky’s second dose for the day (A feat that came with great struggle, as Bucky absolutely despised taking his pills every day and fought with Steve on countless occasions to actually swallow them down), Sam had come in for his tri-weekly visits to sit with Bucky and give Steve a much needed reprieve from sitting with his spouse at all hours.

This day, Sam was having Bucky practice math problems, and Bucky seemed to be struggling to focus on the book in front of him; after only a few questions in his booklet, Bucky lost interest in his project, and his eyes continued to dart to the side of the room, seemingly focused on something else entirely.

Sam sighed, leaning his elbow against the tabletop as he watched his friend’s eyes focus on the far wall every few seconds; his pencil sat forgotten on the table in front of him, and Bucky’s hands had drifted down to his lap, fingers wrung together until the skin was rubbed red and raw from repeated friction. “Bucky… hey, look at me, Bucky.” Sam murmured, leaning over the table to get his friend’s attention.

On the bed, Steve lounged in a pair of freshly cleaned sweats, his back propped up against a pillow as he watched his husband’s inattentive behavior; as he had the past hour, Bucky almost completely ignored Sam as he stared at the far wall, unblinking and strangely silent. “He’s been like this for the past couple of hours,” Steve offered, giving Sam an apologetic smile. “I dunno… the past couple of days he’s seemed really out of it. I think it’s because they upped his dosage on Monday.”

Sam nodded, leaning back in his chair to stretch his shoulders. “Yeah, you’re probably right. It might take him a week to get used to the new meds. What do they have him on?”

Steve struggled to remember the name of the medication; he scrubbed his hand over his face, knocking his glasses askew as he stared up at the ceiling. “Chlora… chlorpromazine. I think that’s what they said it was.”

Sam made a face, looking back at Bucky for a long moment. “Why the hell do they have him on such an old medication? They got so many other prescriptions out there that work a hell of a lot better than Thorazine.”

Steve shrugged, leaning back into the pillows as he picked up his book to resume reading. “I dunno. Dr. Pierce said to try him out on that to see if he takes to it. Apparently he doesn’t trust the newer meds just yet, especially for Bucky’s level of- “ he cut off, looking up from the book as he struggled to speak the words, his eyes bore into the far wall as he struggled around his dry throat. He hated it; fuck he _hated_ thinking that Bucky was so sick, and there wasn’t anything he could do about it. ”His… illness.” he finally managed to choke out; his fingers trembled slightly as he held the book in his hand with a white-knuckled grip.

Sam looked up from Bucky, meeting Steve’s gaze for a long moment before he smiled at him. “I get it, man. It’s hard. But he’s gonna be alright. You’ll see. There’s lots of people that have this condition and still live lives, Steve,” he reassured him, leaning back in his seat. The two friends shared a look before the moment dissolved around them.

Steve relaxed a bit, comforted by his friend’s confidence; Steve honestly didn’t know how he could have survived this long without Bucky, if Sam hadn’t been there for him, every step of the way. Steve offered him a small nod in appreciation, his eyes moving back to the book in his hand. “Thanks Sam…”

With a smile, Sam turned his attention back to Bucky; Bucky’s eyes had locked on the far wall again, and Sam tapped the tabletop to try and get his attention. “Hey, Bucky. Look at me, Buck. You gotta get back to work on your book now.”

Bucky didn’t move one bit; instead, he continued to bore his gaze into the far wall, his shoulders tense at his sides, and his eyes wide in a perpetual state of stunned silence.

Sam shifted, watching his friend for a moment before his smile fell away entirely. “Bucky… look at me.” Sam repeated, his voice a little more firm as he spoke.

Behind them, Steve looked up from his book, his expression souring a little. Odd; Bucky didn’t usually take this long to focus his attention back on anyone after he zoned out. Normally, after a few seconds, he could focus back on the world around him, and speak. But this time, he didn’t so much as move or blink. Concern flooded Steve’s spine, and he sat up a little, staring at his husband’s rigid back for a long moment. “What’s wrong with him?” Steve asked, his voice hedging on frightened as he stared at his catatonic spouse.

Sam’s expression hardened a little. He looked away from Bucky, his eyes meeting Steve’s for a moment before he spoke. “What’d they up his meds to? What dose did they start him out on?”

Steve felt a cold rock of dread settle in his stomach, and he immediately crawled to his feet. Something wasn’t right; if Sam sounded as unsure as he did, then he saw something in Bucky that Steve had missed entirely, and that scared him more than he wanted to admit. Rushing over to the side table, Steve picked up two pill bottles, one empty and the other full, and he held them up. “They... started him out on 10mg of Thorazine. They just upped him to 25 mg three days ago,” he read off, looking back at his friend. What he saw, made his stomach lurch up into his chest.

Sam’s eyes widened in shock, and he looked up at Steve fully. “That’s not right... it’s not high enough. He shouldn’t be doing this…” he murmured, standing up from the table as slowly as he possibly could. He turned his attention back to Bucky, inching around the table to stand at his left; his hand hovered just over Bucky’s shoulder, unwilling to touch him, but close all the same…

Steve stared at him, his fingers going numb at his sides as he realized something was terribly wrong. “Sam... the fuck are you talking about? He shouldn’t be doing _what?”_ he demanded, crossing the room to his spouse’s side. He looked down at Bucky, leaning in to get a good look in his eyes, hoping to catch whatever it was that Sam had seen in Bucky before he had.

Suddenly, Bucky’s voice spoke up. But instead of clear and concise, his words came out jumbled and slurred, almost as if he’d drunk an entire 5th of whiskey in one go. “St’ve… face... s’numb… sf-… numb…” he murmured; reaching a hand up, Bucky tried to touch his cheek, and a clear bubble of saliva formed on his lower lip, dribbling down his chin; his eyes never strayed from the far wall, but much to Steve’s horror, he watched as his spouse’s pupils contracted to pin-points in his blue eyes, his jaw going slack as his hand slumped back down to his lap with a weighted drop.

Steve stared at Bucky, his heart racing to life in his chest as he put his hand on Bucky’s shoulder; he shook him slightly to try and get his attention on him, his own fingers tingling with terror as he stared at his husband. Bucky was as rigid as a board. ‘ _What the fuck is going on?!’_ Steve’s mind screamed as he tried, again, to shake his husband back into awareness. “Bucky… Bucky! Look at me! BUCK!” he shouted, desperate to get his spouse’s attention. Bucky didn’t flinch. Not once. “BUCKY!”

“Steve…” Sam uttered, moving over to Steve’s side and pulling him back. In front of them, Bucky’s mouth dropped open and a long line of spittle dangled from his lower lip. “Move the table away…”

Instantly, every sense in Steve’s body went into overdrive and a rush of adrenaline pounded through his veins at the disturbing words his friend spoke. Fuck, he just wanted an answer, what the FUCK WAS GOING ON?! “Why?! What the fuck is happening?!” Steve shouted, turning on his friend, desperate and terrified as he waited for his answer.

Only just when he did, a loud, gut-wrenching cry ebbed into the room around them and Steve spun back to the source of the sound, his heart freezing to stone in his chest. The sound in question had screeched from Bucky’s own lungs, an almost inhuman wail that echoed in the room around them and made every drop of blood in Steve’s body freeze to ice.

Steve stared in horror as Bucky’s eyes rolled to the back of his head, his arms twisting out in front of him until they locked up at the elbows. Before he could even react, Sam lunged forward and shoved the table back, scattering papers and pencils across the floor as he shoved the table across the carpet and away from Bucky. No sooner had he done that, Bucky’s entire body locked up and he toppled from the chair to the floor, just scant inches away from where the table leg had been moments before. The moment he hit the ground, Bucky’s body went rigid as he fell to his back with a loud ‘thud!’; his legs locked up in a contorted bend at the knees, his arms twisted in front of his chest… the whites of his eyes exposed to the air around them.

Then the convulsions started.

Steve had seen horrifying things in his life. Steve had seen several of Bucky’s friends eviscerated and torn apart. Steve had seen dozens of John Doe’s, in various states of decay and mental despair over these past five years. Steve had never seen anything as terrifying as Bucky’s seizure.

“BUCKY!” Steve screamed, watching in horror as his husband began to thrash on the ground, his legs and arms twisting and kicking out as he seized up in front of him; he uttered choked off gasps of air and gurgled around spittle in his throat as he twitched violently on the floor, his head tossed back and twisted down to his left shoulder. Panic instantly settled in Steve’s bones and the only thought that came to mind, was ‘stop this at all costs!’ Steve lunged forward, dropping down to his knees to try and desperately pin his spouse’s arms to the ground to stop this horrifying display in its tracks. Despite Bucky’s seizure, Steve found himself almost thrown off of Bucky as he flailed and writhed beneath his grip like a livewire of human tissue and bone, and he struggled to hold tightly to the body beneath him.

“BUCKY! FUCK! HELP!!!” he shouted, pinning Bucky to the ground as he sobbed around his pleas. Salty tears obscuring his vision as he stared down at his partner’s white face as he struggled to breathe; fuck, Bucky couldn’t breathe! Was he going to fucking watch him _die?! WAS BUCKY FUCKING GOING TO DIE RIGHT THERE?!_

“STEVE GET OFF OF HIM!” Sam bellowed around his friend’s screams; he dropped down next to him and yanked Steve back from Bucky, shoving him towards the bed before glaring at him in a mixture of fright and anger. “Don’t fuckin’ pin him down! You’re gonna hurt him!”

“WELL WHAT THE FUCK DO I DO?!” Steve screamed in his face, looking over Sam’s shoulder to his convulsing spouse on the floor. The seizure had only gotten worse, and Steve couldn’t tear his eyes away from Bucky; his fingers fisted in his hair as he watched him from afar. Fuck, he couldn’t breathe, Bucky fucking couldn’t breathe! “Fuck! FUCK SAM WHAT THE FUCK DO I DO!?”

“Just sit tight! Don’t move!” Sam ordered; with that, he turned back to Bucky, moving to his side on the floor. In a split second, every ounce of professional experience Sam had, sped into overdrive as he focused on his friend before him. He grabbed the brunet by the shoulders and gently turned him to his side, propping his hand against his friend’s shoulder to keep him in that position against the seizing that threatened to overturn them both. He leaned in, speaking in a soothing tone over the rattling of Bucky’s throat; his hand worked over Bucky’s arm as he tried to soothe this seizure into complacency as best as he could. “Bucky... Bucky listen to me… If you can hear me, you’re gonna be alright. I swear, you’re gonna be alright, man…” Sam lulled, his free hand rubbing gentle strokes up and down Bucky’s ribs as he held him on his side. Every few seconds, his eyes darted up to the clock on the wall, lingered for a moment, and then dropped back down to Buck’s face to resume his lulling mantra.

Bucky didn’t react to the voice above him. Instead, his body continued to twitch and writhe on the carpeting, arms flopping uselessly against the carpet, and his head twisting against the rug beneath him with vicious force. Steve watched, his heart hammering in his chest and his stomach turning violently as he stood back, completely helpless as he watched his husband’s seizure; fuck, he was not prepared for this. He hadn’t been warned about this happening! What the fuck was he going to do if Bucky didn’t pull out of this and he fucking _died,_ right there on the fucking floor in front of him?! Steve thought he was going to be sick; fuck, his own lungs were constricting painfully, making his vision speckle with white snow and his stance waver in his spot. He thought he was going to pass out…

But, fuck! No, Bucky needed him awake! He wasn’t going to pass out! If this was the last time he saw his husband alive, even like this, there was no way Steve was going to let himself succumb to a fucking asthma attack; not if he could help it!

As he watched, struggling around his own sickly lungs as he held himself up against the side of the bed, Steve heard a choked gurgle, and a splattering sound, louder than the others. He looked up to see a spray of dark red across the carpeting, pooling like a red mire against the thin fibers and only growing with each desperate breath Bucky tried to take; Bucky’s purpling lips were covered in blood and spit, dribbling down his mouth and chin, and his face paling further as he struggled through the convulsions to breathe on his own. Steve choked on a scream, hand clamped over his mouth in shock at the sight. Blood, fucking blood?! He was coughing up blood now?! “Shit! Sam!” Steve cried, unable to stop his sobbing now as he looked to his friend for help. “Fuck, Sam _what the fuck is that_?!”

“Steve he just bit his tongue! That’s it!” Sam shouted, looking over at Steve before he leveled him with a harsh glare. “You need to calm the fuck down. Bucky’s not conscious right now. He can’t hear anything, but when he comes outta this you need to be _calm!_ Do you understand me?!”

Steve could barely hear his words, his mind too focused on the horrifying display in front of him. Through the shouting, the sickening gurgles, and the haze of Steve’s panic, he vaguely heard the door fly open and three people rush inside towards the body on the floor; two nurses, and Dr. Pierce all rushed into the room together and dropped down next to Bucky, assisting Sam in holding the twitching man steady; Steve watched the four of them work in tandem, propping Bucky up enough to allow the bloody saliva in his mouth to drain out to the carpeting below. One nurse got to her feet and pushed Steve aside until he stumbled back, and she grabbed a thin pillow from the bedding; rushing back over to their patient, she carefully slid the pillow beneath Bucky’s head, propping his head up further to drain his mouth and clear his airway as much as they could manage.

The moments dragged by for what felt like eternity; Steve only stood back, feeling his stomach twisting and his heart thundering frantically in his chest as he watched his husband’s convulsions slowly lessen. He couldn’t look… fuck he couldn’t look. Bucky was dying. He fucking knew it. He was watching him die right there on the floor, and here he stood, sobbing and choking on his own shitty lungs as he tried to keep conscious enough to endure it all with them. “Bucky… fuck… _Bucky_ , my God…” he whimpered, closing his eyes as he forced himself to look away. He couldn’t watch him die… he wasn’t strong enough to do that…

Though it felt like ages, it only took a few minutes before Bucky’s body finally went lax against the floor; silence enveloped the room for a long beat, in which Steve expected to hear Dr. Pierce declare his husband dead. ‘ _This is it… this is fucking it…’_ his mind rattled, and he squeezed his eyes shut, preparing himself for the worst news he could receive in his life.

That didn’t happen.

Instead, Steve could hear Bucky’s breathing suddenly come back, and though it was somewhat shallow and quick, he was unbelievably relieved to hear that he could breathe once again. Stunned by the sudden turn of events, Steve looked up, his eyes immediately locking on Bucky’s face, and his tears dried up almost instantly. To his surprise, he saw the color returning to Bucky’s face as his breathing slowly evened out and finally settled in a slow, even cadence of in and out, his lungs finally expanding, his body relaxing from the turmoil it had just been through.

As the seconds passed, Bucky’s twitches melted away entirely, and finally, his body relaxed completely; he slumped down on the floor in a mess of loose limbs and exhaustion, his head pillowed on the soft cushion beneath him as his eyes rolled back from their terrifying position and his eyelids slid shut. His arms loosened as they slumped to the floor, and suddenly, everything came to a complete stop; after the most upsetting thing Steve had seen in his life, the only signs of Bucky’s seizure that remained were the faint twitches of his pinky finger, and the stain of blood on his lower lip as he lay semi-conscious on the floor in front of them all.

When the medical staff felt it was finally safe to let go of Bucky, Dr. Pierce leaned back, and plucked his glasses from his eyes before rubbing his temple in exhaustion. “Elapsed time of seizure?” He asked, looking to Sam, just across from him. Steve couldn’t shake how bothered he was that he spoke so calmly about this whole thing, as if he’d seen something like this before in his life. What the fuck? No one should be as prepared for something like that as he was!

Sam looked up at the clock once more, his face drawn in professionalism as he spoke. “Five minutes, probably… 30 seconds. Tops,” he rattled off, leaning back on his heel before he looked up at Steve. “You might wanna get over here....” he added, his eyes darting down to the prone man in front of him; his expression was grim, but he seemed relaxed enough. Perhaps the worst of it was over, after all…

Steve didn’t need to be told twice; rushing over to the group, Steve dropped down to the floor next to Bucky, his hands trembling violently as he stared down at his husband in fright. With the help of one of the nurses, Steve carefully lifted Bucky’s head from the pillow and cradled it in his lap, and he brushed his fingers through the long strands of brown hair, comforting both himself and his spouse after such a harrowing moment in their lives. After a moment, he looked up at Dr. Pierce, his eyes accusatory as he spoke to him, seething in rage that he hadn’t been warned of something like this happening. “What the fuck was that!?” He asked, his voice choked off in fear as he struggled around his tears to speak. “What the hell was that? T-the fuck, did you know this would happen?!”

Dr. Pierce shook his head, looking up at Steve before he spoke. “I did not know that this would happen, no, Mr. Barnes. What we’re looking at is a reaction to the medication we started him on; I’ll assume that this seizure was caused by an increase in the dosage, nothing more. We’ll have to change his medication, though I can’t say he won’t have a second one until this current one is completely out of his system.”

Steve inhaled a tremulous breath, his watery eyes trained on his husband’s exhausted face as he brushed the strands of hair from his forehead, tenderly brushing his fingers over his forehead in loving strokes. But the moment Dr. Pierce mentioned the possibility of a second seizure, Steve’s eyes snapped up to Sam and he stared at him with growing panic. “A second one?!” he gasped, mouth dropping open in worry. “Are you kidding me?! What do I do if he has a second one?!” He begged for an answer, his fingers tightening slightly around Bucky’s shoulders as he held him close to himself. Fuck, no… he couldn’t handle a second one. Steve knew he couldn’t fucking handle seeing Bucky like that again; this one alone had torn him apart inside.

Sam only sighed in return, leaning back on his heels as he stared down at his friend on the floor between them. “Just what we did now. You can’t stop it, Steve. He’s gotta come out of it on his own. You just make sure he doesn’t choke on his own spit, keep him propped up on his side until it passes and don’t hold him down. When he comes outta it, you gotta stay positive. I've seen this happen before; a person don’t know what just happened to them when they have a seizure, and Bucky’s not gonna be any different. You need to stay calm and positive around him and promise him he’s okay. That’s all you can do…”

Steve listened, his eyes locked on Sam’s face as he tried desperately to remember everything he said; he continued to caress his spouse’s cheek and forehead, soothing the exhausted man in his arms as he held him close to his stomach. His own heartrate had finally come to rest, and a wave of fatigue hit him like a brick, followed quickly by a growing migraine. Too much… this was all too much for him to handle… why did they have such a shit hand dealt to them? Why did any of this have to happen to them…?

To his right, Dr. Pierce and the two nurses left the room without a word, and the pill bottles that had been left on the side table were removed immediately from the room to be destroyed. He looked away from Sam only when the door clicked shut behind their retreating backs, and he stared at the door for a long moment with fury in his eyes. “How the fuck could he give him something like that!?” he seethed quietly, lowering his tone to an enraged hiss as he spoke. “How can someone even think giving a fucking pill like that to someone is such a good idea?! Is he fucking nuts?!” He demanded, looking up at Sam as he begged with his gaze for answers.

Sam shrugged, looking tired by the whole ordeal; he heaved a sigh of resignation as he sat back on his heels to give Bucky some much needed space. “I dunno, man, he’s just trying to help… I’m sure he didn’t do it on purpose…” With a careful hand, Sam plucked up a discarded towel from the floor, and carefully brought it to Bucky’s lips; he swiped it over his mouth to clean the sticky blood from his lower lip, and he watched with a heavy frown as a new dribble of blood ebbed from his lips to the floor. “Man, he really bit himself good. I hope he doesn’t need stitches…”

The two of them went quiet, with Steve holding his husband’s head in his lap, unwilling to let him go for a second. Fear that at any moment, Bucky would succumb to another seizure kept Steve’s nerves on high alert, his eyes darting over his face every few seconds to look for the signs he had no idea he was looking for. But Bucky remained still and calm, looking as if he merely slept in Steve’s lap for the time being.

After a few minutes, the body in his arms finally stirred and a tired groan ebbed into the room around them. Having just looked away from him, Steve’s eyes snapped down to Bucky and he looked down to see his eyes flutter open as he slowly came back to his senses. Taking Sam’s words into consideration, Steve tried to offer up a small smile and gently brushed his fingers over Bucky’s forehead and jaw once again in soothing strokes. “Hey… hey, Bucky… can you hear me, baby?” he asked, his voice low, barely above a whisper. Thank God, he didn’t have to speak louder. He couldn’t guarantee that he wouldn’t break, if he forced himself to speak up at all.

Bucky stirred, turning his head slowly in the cradle of Steve’s lap to look up at him; he looked worn and weary, bags under his eyes and an almost delirious haze in his gloss eyes as he looked up at his spouse. He stared up at Steve for a long moment, confusion clearly written across his face as he watched him from the vantage point of his prone position. “St-Steve… where… why am I on th’floor?” he muttered, his voice lilting into a whine as he lifted his hand. He brushed his fingers over his temple, down the side of his cheek, and then over his mouth as he slowly tried to fathom what was happening to him. But as he pulled his hand away from his mouth, he saw the red smears on his fingertips, and he stared at them, baffled at the sight of blood. “Why m’I bleedin’?” he asked, looking up at Steve for clarification of what he’d just gone through.

Steve looked up at Sam, his eyes wide as he realized his friend was right; Bucky had no idea that he’d just had a seizure at all. He was thoroughly confused as to why he was being tended to. Steve couldn’t even begin to imagine how frightening that must be, losing that much time and not understanding where you are or what was wrong with you. He swallowed down bile, and closed his eyes for a moment to collect his thoughts; should he tell him? He didn’t know… but he figured he probably had the right to understand what was happening to him. “You... you don’t remember?” he asked, meeting his gaze again. Carefully, he helped Bucky roll over from his side to his back, his head still on the cushion of Steve’s thighs as he looked up at him; Steve could see that Bucky’s right cheek had a red rash on it, slightly bloody from the friction of the carpet rubbing against his face, but otherwise he looked mostly unharmed by the experience. “You… you had a s-seizure… a really big one.” He trailed off, eyes never leaving his spouse’s face as he finally told him the truth; the pain he saw flashing in Bucky’s eyes at those words, hurt more than he wanted to admit.

Bucky stared up at him, his bleary eyes widening in fear and shame. He looked as if he was struggling to understand the sentence for what it was for a brief moment before the weight of it really sank in; as he slowly contemplated his words, his lower lip began to tremble viciously, his mouth pulling down into a mortified frown, and his blue eyes welled up with tears. “N-no… no I… I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Stevie… I didn’t mean to… t-to do that…” he whimpered, looking away from him in his embarrassment.

Steve stared down at his husband, his heart shattering to a thousand pieces in his chest. Bucky was _ashamed_ of himself? For something he couldn’t control?! “Oh baby, no! No, no, don’t be sorry. It’s not your fault. You didn’t do anything wrong I promise. This was _not_ your fault, I swear to God it wasn’t…” Steve reassured him, cradling his husband’s head in the palms of his hands. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to his forehead, letting his lips linger for a moment before he leaned back to smile weakly down at him. “Baby, please don’t cry. You didn’t do anything wrong… I promise.”

Sam spoke up then, as he leaned forward to smile down at his friend. “Steve’s right, Bucky. You didn’t do anything wrong. This isn’t your fault. You just had a bad reaction to the drugs. That’s all it is.” He smiled at his friend and rubbed his shoulder in a soothing stroke, not getting too close to either Steve or Bucky. It wasn’t his place to encroach on their bonding; Bucky needed Steve more than Sam at that moment. “Do you need anything? Do you need the bathroom? Do you want to lie down for a while and sleep?”

Bucky shook his head at the questions, looking up at Sam before he blinked rapidly against his humiliation; two huge tears rolled down his cheeks to the carpet below and he rubbed at his mouth for a moment. “My tongue hurts… Why does…-”

Steve spoke up, pulling Bucky’s fingers away from his mouth; the last thing he needed was touching the wound and letting it get infected now. God, Bucky wouldn’t take anymore grief in his life, if he got an infection on top of everything else. “You bit it. It’ll be alright, just don’t touch it. We’ll have the nurses take a look at it for you, okay?” Steve reassured him, offering a weak little smile as he got his spouse’s attention back on him. “Do you remember anything that happened?”

Bucky paused, thinking for a moment before he shook his head a bit. Then, he froze again, looking up at the ceiling with wide eyes. “Y-Yes… Was… doin’ Sam’s math problems. Then I just... I felt like there was something in my head, like it was squeezing… like something was in my head trying to g-get me... I don’t remember anything after that.” he murmured; his voice was tired and drawn as he recounted what he could remember. From what he had described, Bucky couldn’t remember almost an hour’s worth of the day. He’d stopped doing math problems and zoned out shortly after Sam had arrived for their afternoon visit, and that had been almost 40 minutes prior. An _hour_ of his day, completely missing from his mind, never to be brought back again…

Steve looked up at Sam, his eyes hooded in concern. He bit his lower lip and swallowed that ugly bile of fear down, hoping to keep his own emotions at bay for the time being. ‘ _Be strong… be strong, he needs you to not break down, Steve…’_

When he felt he’d calmed himself down considerably, he turned his attention back on Bucky, and smiled a little bit brighter down at him. “It’s okay, baby. You’re doing just fine, I promise.” He looked up at the bed and considered it for a moment. “Do you want to lay down on the bed? Or do you want to stay here for a while more? It’s up to you…”

Bucky seemed to contemplate it for a moment more. When he spoke, he looked up at Steve with hope in his eyes. “Wanna lay on the bed…”

Steve smiled down at Bucky, and nodded. “Alright, baby. Let’s get you up, okay?” he murmured. Looking up at Sam the two shifted, grabbing Bucky by the shoulders and helping him sit up. They took it slow and steady, and when Bucky had managed to sit up without support, they helped him to his feet. This time, Bucky swayed just a little in their grip, but they held true, holding him steady as he walked, mostly unassisted, towards the bed. Steve helped Bucky slump down to the mattress beneath him, and then carefully tucked his legs up into the bed with a gentle hand; when Bucky was safely in the middle of the mattress, Steve leaned over and pulled the blankets up over his husband’s waist, and leaned down to press a kiss to his forehead; he lingered for a moment, feeling his temperature. Other than feeling a little clammy and cool, Bucky felt otherwise alright. “Do you want me to lay down with you?” he asked, letting his fingers touch his husband’s cheek tenderly. Fuck, he couldn’t stop touching him… he never wanted to stop touching him, if only to prove that everything would be alright…

Bucky nodded again, his eyes drifting across Steve’s face as he did so. “Please…” Bucky whispered, pleading quietly for comfort. Their gaze lingered for a moment before Bucky turned over onto his side, his arm tucked under the pillow at his head. “I’m tired…”

Steve nodded instantly, grateful that Bucky wasn’t pushing him away this time; he quickly tucked himself into the blankets next to Bucky and wrapped his arms around his waist, holding him close to his front. He let Bucky tuck his head underneath his chin, pressing a kiss to his crown and drawing his fingers up and down his spine in gentle touches. “It’s okay, babe. If you need to sleep, you just sleep alright? I’m not going anywhere.”As he spoke, he looked up to give Sam an apologetic smile for their visit being cut so short. “Sorry…”

Sam immediately waved at him, cutting off Steve’s apology as he smiled. “Don’t even be sorry. He needs to rest and you need to be with him. I completely get it.” He looked down at Bucky, and smiled a little wider. “Want me to come back tomorrow, Bucky? Or I can come back another day instead if you’re not feeling up to it.”

Bucky didn’t look up at him; his attention was firmly locked on Steve’s face, and he shrugged a shoulder. “You can come back tomorrow… I’m sorry I ruined our session…”

“You didn’t ruin a damn thing, Buck.” Sam murmured, inching his way for the door. He paused at the entrance, his hand lingering on the knob before he bowed his head to them both. “Just feel better alright? Everything is going to be just fine…”

With that, Sam slipped from the room, closing the door behind himself as it locked automatically. Steve looked up to the door, his eyes lingering on it for a moment; he was grateful to have someone as understanding as Sam in his life. Steve honestly didn’t know any other friend out there that would be as beautifully accepting and helpful as he was. His arms tightened around Bucky’s shoulders, and he leaned down to press a kiss to his forehead. “Just get some sleep, alright baby?”

Bucky nodded, and pressed his face further into the meat of Steve’s chest. After a moment, he muttered something into his chest, causing Steve to lean down and ask him to repeat his sentence. “Just… they're… not gonna make me take any more of those pills are they?” he asked a little louder, looking up at Steve as his eyes pleaded for his answer. “I don’t want any more pills… Don’t make me take ‘em… please…”

Steve bit his lip as he listened to his plea. Looking over at the one-way mirror, Steve stared at it for a long moment. He didn’t know what else to say to that; he knew that the doctor simply wanted to help Bucky get through his hallucinations. As much as he didn’t like Dr. Pierce’s methods, they were only there to help him. At least that’s what he claimed...

His mind wandered back to Pierce’s statement earlier, about how he had no clue if Bucky would succumb to another seizure as they weaned him onto a new medication. God, he prayed that Bucky wouldn’t seize up again; he honestly didn’t know if he could handle one while he was alone. He didn’t honestly know how much more he could take of this whole nightmare… “I dunno Bucky… we’ll have to wait and see what the doctor says…” he murmured, pressing his cheek to Bucky’s forehead as he spoke. “Let’s hope they know what to do to help you....”

* * *

 

Bucky had two more seizures by the end of the week.

The first, Steve had managed to coax him through it late at night, with little ill effect. It had terrified him right out of a sound sleep, as Bucky’s seizure had hit at almost 3 in the morning; still, they managed to work through it on their own with no pain or blood to be had this time, and it lasted only a few brief minutes before Bucky finally came out of it again.

The second one, however, hadn't been as lucky. The seizure had hit in the middle of the afternoon with very little warning, unlike the other two, and had been so bad, Bucky had stopped breathing entirely for several minutes while his body fought through the convulsions.

Unable to handle this level of fright, Steve had screamed for help from the nurses, and the staff had struggled to bring Bucky around, fearing they may have to rush him to the nearest emergency room before he passed from suffocation. When he finally came to once again, he’d been so dazed, he forgot where he was and who he was with, leaving Steve sobbing in the corner as Bucky had actually demanded to know who the hell he was when he laid eyes on him. The on-staff doctor had been left to attend to him for the remainder of the day, making sure his oxygen levels were stable and he slowly regained his short-term memory from the ordeal.

Steve couldn't have been more grateful for the help that day; after their frightening experience he'd spent a good hour in the bathroom, heaving his stomach up as he tried to cope with what had happened. Bucky forgot who he was. Bucky really almost did die this time. Bucky wasn’t getting better, and there wasn’t anything he could do about it to stop his downward spiral from happening…

Needless to say, despite the doctor's assurance that he could be released that week, Bucky didn't go home for another month...

* * *

 

“NO!!” Bucky screamed, tucking himself back against the toilet tank behind him as he shied away from Steve. His hands were clutched over his scalp as he curled in on himself, shaking his head violently to ward off any attempts Steve made to touch him. “DON’T DO IT! PLEASE DON’T DO IT!!”

Steve sighed wearily, leaning back against his heels as he sat on the floor of the room’s small bathroom; in his lap, his hands sat limp, one holding a small pair of shears as he stared at his traumatized spouse from his vantage point on the floor. He didn’t understand it; Bucky had let him shave his stubble away with a razor, but _God forbid_ , he take a pair of scissors to his hair. Frustrated, Steve got to his feet and put the scissors down on the sink top, turning back to Bucky as he held his hands out to him in a placating gesture.

“Bucky, stop screaming. Please!” Steve begged, holding his bare hands out to him. “Look, I put them away. The scissors are gone, I swear, they’re gone!”

Bucky still didn’t look up at him. Instead, he whimpered loudly, tucking his knees up to his chest as he trembled in his spot. Weak sobs could be heard echoing in the bathroom and he shied away from him further, almost toppling off of the toilet seat as he hid his face from his husband with a whimper. “Don’t cut it… don’t cut it... please!” he repeated over and over again, his fingertips digging into his scalp from where he sat.

Steve huffed loudly, turning and opening the bathroom door for Bucky to make his escape. Almost instantly, Bucky bolted from the bathroom and ran to the bed, curling up at the head of the mattress as he hid his face away from Steve with a loud whimper of despair.

Fucking hell, Steve didn’t think he could handle this a moment longer; ever since Bucky’s seizures almost a month ago, his spouse’s behavior had become far more volatile and skittish. Many times, Bucky had actually pushed Steve _away_ from him with a furious shout, only to beg that Steve come back and would curl into his chest, repeating apologies to him as he tucked himself into Steve’s front like a frightened child.

What had been a promise of a month’s time in the Institute, had turned into almost 2 and a half months. With winter finally on the tail end of its run, Steve felt himself beginning to go stir-crazy inside this fucking building, and he wanted nothing more than to take Bucky home and acclimate him back into the world once again. But after a trial and error of multiple drugs, Bucky had finally been settled onto a low-dose of Clozapine, and his behavior had only slowly begun to show progress once again. Bucky had regressed terribly after a week’s worth of Risperdal, and hadn’t let anyone touch him for days after he’d started that medication. Since that brief stint, it had been a slow uphill battle in getting Bucky to come back around to the level of trust he’d had his first week after being discovered in the cabin.

Deep down, Steve fucking hated that he had to medicate Bucky; he swore, up and down, that his spouse’s behaviors had been triggered by the multiple drugs, rather than the supposed schizophrenia he was suffering from. Despite arguing that Bucky’s behavior was only getting worse from the pills he was on, no one would listen to him and he was forced to watch the medical staff continue to pour pills down his throat, and his husband’s behaviors continue to grow more questionable as they did.

Granted, his hallucinations seemed to have finally come to an end, which Steve could chalk up as their only victory out of this whole ordeal.

Even despite these behavior changes, Dr. Pierce had _finally_ cleared that Bucky could go home that day, and Steve had been so relieved by his orders, he’d cried into Bucky’s shoulders with relief as the two of them held each other like their lives depended on it.

In celebration of their freedom being given back to them, Steve had simply wanted to clean up his husband’s appearance a bit after being cooped up for so long; after a good long bath and a shave, Bucky actually seemed to have calmed down considerably. His weight had returned to a healthy state once again, his skin tone had settled back into its olive hue, and his wounds had all healed over leaving only a few scant scars on his body as his only signs of turmoil he’d lived through. All in all, Bucky looked almost completely normal again, a feat that Steve never thought would come to pass.

But then, the issue with the scissors cropped up. The minute Steve had picked up a pair of scissors to trim his husband’s hair back, Bucky had absolutely lost his mind, and began shrieking at Steve that he didn’t want him to touch his hair. Steve wanted nothing more than to bash his forehead against a wall in frustration.

Exasperated and drained, Steve slumped out of the bathroom towards his spouse, and curled up on the bed next to his trembling figure, offering him a tired look and a gentle hand. “Bucky… look at me,” he murmured, plucking his glasses from the side table and settling them on his face; he’d learned, almost a month ago, that Bucky was only calm when he wore his glasses. He’d long since trimmed his beard back to a manageable length, and one that Bucky could actually remember from the day of his disappearance, which helped Steve get through these emotional outbursts much easier. But the glasses… he didn’t understand why, but Bucky only seemed really like his normal self, if Steve was wearing them around him.

After a few moments, Bucky looked up from the curl of his arms to see Steve staring at him. His eyes ghosted over Steve’s face for a moment, before he immediately lunged forward, wrapping his arms around Steve’s neck and clinging to him desperately. “I’m sorry!” He whimpered into his chest, shaking like a leaf in his arms. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to! D-don’t be mad at me!”

Steve frowned, closing his eyes against the tired wave of sadness that constantly plagued him. He wrapped his arms around Bucky’s waist and cuddled him close, burying his face in Bucky’s shoulder to press kisses to the side of his neck. “It’s okay, Bucky… it’s alright. Just… why are you afraid of the scissors? They won’t hurt you. Not if you don’t move at all.”

Bucky trembled harder in his grip, but didn’t say anything. Instead, he shook his head and burrowed closer to his front, tucking his legs in between Steve’s as he cuddled up to his chest with sorrow.

Steve didn’t push Bucky to speak. Instead, he simply closed his eyes, relishing the feel of the warm body in his grip as he held him firmly. At least Bucky was calm now. Perhaps he could finally get him ready to go, after a long morning of struggling for the two of them.

He’d managed to get Buck into a pair of loose jeans and a t-shirt, but his bare feet were still in need of socks and shoes. Steve knew that they were beginning to run out of time; Dr. Pierce would have the two of them moved out of the room soon and sent home, which meant that he still had to pack up all of his things and get Bucky ready for the hour-long car ride home. If Bucky was still clinging to him like this, he’d never get anywhere.

As the two of them lay together, Steve heard the handle of the door turn, and he looked up to see the door to Bucky’s room swing open. Standing on the other side, was Natasha and Sam, and the two of them were smiling brighter than Steve had seen in a long time. Steve felt a surge of relief wash over him at the sight of his two friends, and he motioned for them to come in. Extracting himself from Bucky’s grip, Steve sat up and smiled at them as he got to his feet. “Hey! I didn’t think you two were going to make it,” he said, pulling Natasha into a grateful hug.

Natasha just smiled back and threaded her arms around Steve’s waist. “It’s good to see you both. I’m sorry we got here so late, I had to drop Sarge off at your house; I didn’t think having the dog here was such a good idea right now,” she replied, smiling up at him; her eyes darted over to Bucky, and her smile faltered a little. “How’s he doing?”

Steve’s smile fell and he looked back at his husband. Bucky was still seated at the head of the bed, his knees tucked up to his chest as he stared, untrusting at Natasha. “He’s… getting there. He’s struggling to remember people.” he murmured, taking a step closer to the bed; he reached out for Bucky, and Bucky immediately latched onto his hand, holding it tightly to his chest as he continued to gape at Natasha from a safe distance.

Natasha smiled a little, but kept her space. “I think I get it. It’s a lot to take in. He looks a lot better than the last picture I saw of him, though. That’s good,” she said, her voice low and soothing as she smiled down at Bucky. “Do you remember me at all, Buck? It’s me, Natasha. Nat? We were best friends in high school? We’re best friends, do you remember me?” Natasha asked, her questions a rapid fire inquiry of her friend’s memory. She seemed slightly less patient with Bucky’s odd behavior than Sam, but Steve didn’t honestly blame her. Sam had experience dealing with things like this. Natasha was trying. That’s all Steve could ask of her.

Bucky didn’t waver his gaze from her at all; instead, he stared at her for a long moment, his furrowed brows relaxing as his mind slowly recounted whatever memories he could drudge up of her. “... Nat. I think… I think I remember you,” he said finally, his eyes never leaving her face.

Suddenly, Bucky leaned forward, grabbing her wrist and tugging her towards the bed.Surprised, Nat sat down on the edge of the bed heavily, across from Bucky, and she offered him a weak, almost nervous smile. “Bucky?” she asked, casting Steve a side-eye look before looking back into Bucky’s eyes. “What is it? What’s he doing?”

No one answered her. Instead, Bucky reacted first; he reached up, taking her temples in his hands as gently as he could. He pressed her hair down, pulling it straight on either side of her face as he really stared into her eyes. After a long moment, his eyes lit up with recognition, and he beamed at her with a delighted laugh. “NAT!” he shouted, throwing his arms around her neck and hugging her tightly to his chest. “I missed you!!”

Confused and surprised by Bucky’s strange behavior, Natasha looked up at Steve and Sam, her eyes wide as she hugged him back. “Uhhh…” she stammered, her eyes begging them both to explain what was going on.

Sam chuckled in response, looking up at Steve before he spoke. “Right, about that… Bucky’s memory is really weak. He only remembers things if he has a visual cue to that memory. The last time he saw you, your hair was straightened and longer, remember? He didn’t recognize you until he straightened your bangs out.”

Steve nodded, tapping his glasses. “Same thing with me. If I’m not wearing my glasses, he has a harder time remembering that I’m supposed to be who I am.” His voice trailed off as he explained. He didn’t want to admit it, but it still hurt every time he remembered that the first person Bucky’s memories held readily to, had been Sam and not himself. He understood why. Sam’s appearance hadn’t changed once in 5 years. Steve’s had, and his glasses played a major role in Bucky’s long-term memory. It still didn’t change the fact that his heart twinged jealously every time he thought of it.

Natasha stared up at Steve, and her expression softened in understanding. “That’s… wow. I’m so sorry.” she murmured, rubbing her hands up and down Bucky’s back as he clinged to her. Clearly from her expression, she understood why that might sit ill with Steve…

But he wasn’t going to dwell on it. Instead, Steve shrugged and offered her his own sad smile as he leaned his hip against the bedside table. “It’s… it’s a coping mechanism. They said he should gain his long-term memory back soon, though the medication they have him on might delay that for a while more….”

Natasha didn’t answer him; instead, she turned her attention back to Bucky, keeping him occupied while Sam stepped away from the bed and began to grab Steve’s things to pack away for him.

Steve looked up at their tandem actions, his eyes widening as he realized what they were doing; without even speaking, both Natasha and Sam had decided that they would take care of helping Steve get Bucky ready to go home. It lightened the burden on his shoulders and he couldn’t be more grateful for their kindness, but he still felt a little guilty that they felt the need to help him like this…“Hey, Sam! I got that, I can pack my own bag.” Steve protested, turning to face his friend as he watched him fuss with the room around them.

“Just get Bucky ready to go, alright? I got this covered.” Sam chuckled, waving his friend off and giving him a wink. With that, he resumed folding Steve’s clothes up and packing them into the suitcase at his side, thoroughly ignoring Steve’s attempts to intervene his actions.

Despite his protests, Steve felt a sense of relief in his chest as he watched his two friends carefully; Natasha had Buck’s full attention on her, which left Steve the chance to finish tidying up the room around them as he grabbed their shoes from beside the door. Bucky had received a brand new pair of sneakers to go with his jeans and t-shirt, and the sweatshirt that sat folded on the side chair still had the tag on it. Steve made a mental note to send a thank you card and the biggest fruit basket he could buy, to the nurses that had been so kind to Bucky this whole time.

Grabbing those things, Steve carried them over to the bed, and sat down next to his husband. He held his socks and shoes out to him, giving Bucky the chance to do this on his own. Like hell, was he going to make Bucky feel like he was being babied any more than he already was. “C’mon Bucky… let’s get ready to go home, okay?”

When his voice lofted over Bucky, the brunet looked up from his conversation with Natasha, and his eyes landed on his shoes. HIs smile faltered a little as he stared at them for a long moment, as if trying to remember which shoe went on which foot. After a moment’s internal struggle, Bucky took the items from Steve’s hands, and carefully slipped his socks on. That was easy enough.

The shoes were a bit more of a challenge, however; after a brief second, Bucky figured out which shoe went on which foot, and managed to get the laces tied again, giving his feet a proud smile as he stared down at the neat knots in front of him. He looked up at Steve and beamed at him, reaching up to brush his fingers through his bangs and push them from his eyes. “I’m ready to go home now.”

Steve chuckled, and held up the sweatshirt in his hands. “Not quite. It’s still pretty cold out. Put this on and then I’ll grab your coat, alright? March or not, it’s still too cold for you to go outside in a t-shirt, alright?”

Bucky nodded in understanding, and took the dark blue sweatshirt from Steve’s fingers. Holding it up, he managed to figure out this article of clothing much faster, and he slipped into the sweatshirt, tucking his hands into the front pocket with a smile before he stood up from the bed. “Can we go home now?”

Steve smiled a little; he got to his feet as well and stepped up to Bucky, wrapping his arms around his waist. He pulled his spouse into a hug and pressed a kiss to his forehead, as he held him close. “Almost. Just gotta wait for the doctor to come and sign off on your release. We need to set you up with regular therapy, too. Dr. Pierce has a clinic in our hometown that he wants you to go visit him at a couple times a week.”

Bucky frowned, looking up at Steve as he listened to him. His face melted into a small scowl and he looked down at Steve’s chest, his fingers digging into Steve’s biceps as he held him close. “I don’t like him. I told him I don’t need pills and he keeps giving them to me. I feel confused all the time anymore now that he makes me take them.” he looked up at Steve, and pushed his bangs from his face sadly. “Like… I know I know how to tie my shoes, but those pills make me forget how.”

Steve stared at him as he listened; the familiar, tell-tale clutching in his chest had him closing his eyes, and he pressed a sad kiss to Bucky’s forehead that lingered for a long moment. “I know, baby… but he said that they will help you, so you need to take them. Will you do it for me, at least?” he asked, looking into his eyes. He figured it was a bit of a low blow, but if it helped Bucky understand that he needed to take them, Steve would say what he knew he needed to hear to get through to him.

Bucky’s eyes snapped up to Steve, and he stared at him for a long beat; he finally nodded after a moment, his jaw set in determination. “For you? Yes. For him?” Bucky looked over at the mirror; his eyes locked on the glass for a moment, before he scowled harder. “Not for him.”

Steve chuckled; at least Bucky hadn’t lost his feistiness in this whole ordeal. At least _something_ of the old Bucky had stuck around, after weeks of counseling sessions with Dr. Pierce and days of pills and screaming. It felt good to have some sense of normality once again, and Steve gratefully accepted that as a win in their crazy lives again. Looking down at his spouse, Steve pushed those long strands of hair from Bucky’s face that continued to fall in his eyes, and he held them back from his forehead for a moment. “We really need to take care of your hair…” Steve murmured, shaking his head slightly in defeat.

“Looks like he really needs a haircut.” Natasha’s voice broke in, making Steve look up from Bucky’s face. His eyes landed on her and she smiled at him, her arms crossed over her chest in amusement. At her left, Sam had Steve’s suitcase completely packed up, and the rest of the room had been sorted out without his even knowing it. Bless him, he had wonderful friends… “Do you want to swing past a barber shop on the way home and get that taken care of? I’m sure it’s probably not a bad idea at the moment.” She added, shouldering her purse as she moved for the door.

Steve flinched, looking down at Bucky in his arms. Bucky had tensed up, his  wide eyes on Natasha as she suggested getting his hair cut, and Steve could feel Bucky begin to tremble in his grip. No, no… not another meltdown. He couldn’t have that happen, not before they were getting ready to leave; he didn’t want to think how devastated Bucky would be if he broke down again and the doctors suddenly decided he needed to stay one more night in the Institute.

“Shh, shh… It’s okay, Bucky… we’re not going to a barber,” he reassured him, holding his shoulders as he made his spouse look him in the eye. Their gazes locked and a silent conversation flowed between them, with Steve promising Bucky everything would be alright, and Bucky finally succumbing to that suggestion; after a few beats, Bucky’s trembling ceased again, and he snuggled into Steve’s front for comfort and reassurance that everything would be well.

When he was sure that Bucky had worked his way through his fit without harm, Steve looked up at Sam and Natasha and offered them a shrug of his shoulder. “He’s… not really fond of the idea of cutting his hair right now,” Steve added, letting his fingers tighten protectively around his spouse’s hip; Bucky settled further into his chest, and Steve pressed his cheek to the brunet’s crown in security and warmth, murmuring soft words to him in reassurance.

Both Sam and Natasha nodded in understanding, and didn’t press the matter further. However, Natasha seemed to have an idea, and she began digging through her purse with a smile. “Okay, so maybe not a haircut. But what if we at least just tie it back? That way it’s not falling in his face all the time," she offered. After a moment, she uttered a triumphant sound and pulled out a black rubber hair tie with a smile. Holding it up, she smiled at Steve and slowly inched towards Bucky. “Hey Bucky… do you want me to pull your hair back? I can do it for you if you want.”

Bucky looked up at her from Steve’s chest, his eyes landing on the tie. He seemed far more comfortable with that idea, and his shoulders relaxed as he nodded at her. With her permission given, Natasha stepped up behind Bucky, and began to gently comb her fingers through his clean hair, pulling the dark strands back from his face. Luckily in his two months back, Bucky’s hair had thickened up again, leaving it much easier for someone to fiddle with it without fear of pulling the strands out by the roots. He even seemed to like the touch of her fingers on his scalp; Bucky uttered a comforted little sound, and his eyes drifted shut at the gentle massage of his scalp as she worked her fingers through his hair in gentle tugs and faintly scraping fingernails.

Natasha smiled at the trust Bucky put in her, her face brightening in realization and delight. When she finally had his hair pulled back from his face in a low bun, Natasha twisted the rubber band around the bundle of hair, securing it back from his face. When she stepped around to observe her work, Bucky looked up at them, his eyes brightening to see that his vision was no longer obscured by his hair. “There, we go. That’s much better.” Natasha said, pushing the few wayward strands that fell into Bucky’s face.

Steve smiled down at Bucky and threaded his fingers into his spouse’s hand. It wasn’t a haircut, but it definitely was much better, and he felt a thrill of excitement. Things were finally looking normal once again, and Steve couldn’t believe they’d finally fought their way through this nightmare, only to find the end in plain sight. “That’s a lot better, yeah! What do you think? Is this okay, Bucky?” he asked, smiling down at him happily.

Bucky nodded, tightening his fingers around Steve’s knuckles as he leaned into his side with a faint smile on his lips. “Yeah… much better,” he murmured, looking up at him. “Can we go home _now?”_

Just as Steve opened his mouth to remind Bucky that they had to wait for the doctor’s approval, the door to the room swung open with a flourish. The head nurse stepped inside, and in her hands she had a clipboard filled with paperwork. Steve looked up to the woman, smiling a little as she approached the two of them with a warm grin on her painted lips. “Hi. We were waiting on Dr. Pierce to release Bucky today?” he asked, reaching for the clipboard that was handed to him with grace.

The nurse simply nodded, handing Steve a pen before speaking. “The doctor is indisposed at the moment and sent me to release you two today, in his stead. He’s reviewing a few files he has on Bucky and can’t leave his office at the moment; but he’s confident that his treatment is finally making progress and hopes to see you both at his first therapy session outside the clinic,” the nurse rattled off, her hands crossed behind the small of her back as she spoke.

Steve nodded in understanding, his pen flying over the papers in his hands as he filled out Bucky’s release forms. “Sounds fine. Is there any activities, Dr. Pierce doesn’t want me doing with Bucky?” Steve asked, looking up at her from the forms.

The nurse offered up a crooked smile at him, and laughed. “If you’re asking if it’s safe for Bucky to have intercourse, then yes. He’s your spouse and he hasn’t contracted any diseases that you should be aware of. If he’s physically capable and willing to have sex, then Mr. Barnes, you have the doctor’s full permission to do so.”

Steve flushed a dark red, and he looked up at her with wide eyes. What the fuck, where did she get that idea from?! He had merely been asking if he should keep from having Bucky get too worked… up… Oh.

“That’s not…-! Not what I meant!” he spluttered awkwardly; to his right, he heard Natasha and Sam both snicker loudly in mirth, covering her laughter with their hands and fighting the urge to tease Steve mercilessly for the slip. He shot them both dirty looks in turn, and leveled a meek smile back on the woman in front of him. “I’m so sorry, that’s not what I meant but… uhm... thanks for letting me know?”

The nurse just laughed. “I know. Still, I have to give you the drill: If Bucky isn’t in his right mind to have sex, or doesn’t explicitly give you permission to do anything he doesn’t want to do, then you immediately desist any and all activity, no matter what. And you always ask him if he’s consenting, before doing anything, Mr. Barnes. Understood?”

Steve felt a stab of uneasiness in his chest as he listened to her speech; what the fuck, why was she lecturing him like he needed to keep his hands off of his own husband as if he was some sort of sexual predator!? He knew the rules. He understood that sex wasn’t something he could just do with Bucky on a whim anymore. That didn’t change how he felt about his spouse; he’d love him forever, even if they never had sex again. No one had the right to make him feel like he was some out of control sex fiend that needed to be reminded to keep it in his fucking pants!

Regardless of his anger, Steve kept a stoic face in her presence and nodded as he signed off on the final document in his hand. “Alright then. I understand,” he murmured stiffly. Holding out the clipboard, Steve leveled her with a blank expression, not trusting himself not to say anything he’d regret at the moment. “So… next Tuesday, at 2pm sound fine?”

“That’ll work just fine; I’ll make sure you put him in the books for you. Dr. Pierce will see you in his Warwick office then.” Taking the clipboard back, the nurse smiled at Bucky and extended her hand to him. “It’s good to see you’re doing better, Bucky. Please continue to keep up the good work, Mr. Barnes. It’s been a pleasure working with you both.”

Bucky didn’t take her hand. Instead, he stared at her outstretched fingers for a long moment, before looking up into her eyes and offering her a scared smile. “Y-yeah… okay…” he murmured, inching closer to Steve’s side.

The room filled with an awkward tension at the ignored handshake; Sam cleared his throat and Natasha inched closer to the door, still clutching Steve’s suitcase in her hand as they both moved to exit the room without disturbing the tenuous complacency in front of them. Steve could feel Bucky growing more uncomfortable the longer the nurse stared at him waiting for his reply, and he simply steered Bucky away from her towards their exit. “Thank you, ma’am. Bucky thanks you too,” he murmured, looking down at his spouse. He ignored the peeved look the nurse shot Bucky for his ignorance, and simply wrapped his arm around his husband’s waist, comforting him through his withdrawal.

By then, Bucky’s attention had been turned solely to the floor, his shoulder bumping into Steve’s side every so often as he shuffled for the door and freedom outside. As the two of them stepped out into the hallway, Steve could feel Bucky’s steps growing more hesitant as the two of them followed their friends to the main lobby of the Institute. In two months, Bucky hadn’t left his rooms at all, let alone even seen the corridor; Dr. Pierce had come in for their therapy sessions and food had been always brought to him. He’d not left the comfort of his solitude in two months, and Steve knew the idea of stepping out into the real world was far more terrifying than anything he’d experienced in a very long time.

Briefly, Steve wondered how well Bucky would cope with stepping outside for the first time in years, without assistance, and his fingers tightened around his hand to show Bucky that he was there for him, no matter what.When they reached the main lobby of the Institute, Steve helped Bucky shrug into a thick coat, letting Bucky zip up the pull on his own. When they were both bundled up to protect them from the frigid air outside, Steve took his hand in his and pressed a kiss to Bucky’s knuckles, one by one; his eyes were gentle as he peered at Bucky, smiling a soft smile as he brushed his cheek with the pad of his thumb. Then, he guided him for the front door of the Institute, showing him the bright, white atmosphere outside.

The closer they drew to the doors that would lead outside, the more he felt Bucky tensing up again at his side, and his fingers tightened around his hand, grounding his worries with a firm touch. “It’s okay, Bucky… you can do this,” Steve whispered, pressing a kiss to his temple. “I believe if you baby… it’s all going to be alright.”

Bucky only nodded in return, his eyes locking on the glass doors and the snowy ground outside. He paused as they inched up on the doorway, his eyes ghosting over the outside world for a long moment, the snowy ground, the bright sunlight glistening off the icy atmosphere, and the bustle of people outside as they passed on the sidewalks… the sight of cars on the far road, passing by as people zipped on throughout their days. He looked up at Steve in hesitance, reading his eyes and the promise that everything would be well again. Then, he looked back over his shoulder to Natasha and Sam, regarding them for a long moment as he pondered if what he was doing was safe. Natasha and Sam simply nodded at him, giving him encouraging looks as they held their breath for the big moment that Bucky would finally be free.

It seemed whatever mental pep-talk he was giving himself, eventually worked; after a long beat, Bucky inhaled a deep breath and reached. He pushed on the handle of the door, swinging it open with determination. A blast of cold air raced inside, and he shivered violently at the cold that assaulted his senses. He looked as if he were ready to dart back inside the building, but his resolve stayed strong, much to everyone’s surprise. Instead of running, he stood firmly in the doorway of the building… then pushed on as he stepped outside on his own for the first time in over 5 years. His shoes crunched on the snowy ground as he descended the short staircase to the sidewalk below. When he reached the bottom, Bucky paused and let his gaze linger over the outside for a long moment. He took in the sight of the trees outside, the bushes and foliage covered in a layer of early spring snow, and he looked up at the bright blue sky above him.

As he stared at his surroundings in awe, his shoulders relaxed in delight and he turned to look up at the other three behind him. He stared at them for a moment, his expression brightening before his lips broke into a wide smile, and he giggled triumphantly at his accomplishment. “I did it…” he murmured proudly, his hands tightening into excited fists at his sides. “I did it!”

This moment was the second most beautiful moment in Steve’s life. The first, his wedding, could never be topped… but seeing Bucky, looking so happy and free after all the suffering he’d been through for the past half-decade… this came in at a close second. Steve beamed proudly as he watched his husband soak up a fresh lungful of air for the first time in ages. He felt his eyes stinging with tears of pride for his progress, and he uttered his own jovial laugh at the sight of his exuberant husband smiling back at him.

Even after everything they had both been through, he couldn’t believe that Bucky did this. He’d succeeded. He’d survived his imprisonment, and months of therapy. Bucky was so strong, and Steve loved him so much, it hurt. This moment, Steve would forever treasure in his heart. Bucky was the reason he’d live and fight on, and the smile he saw on his spouse’s face, that sealed the deal for life.

Following him down the stairs, Steve took Bucky’s hand in his and laced their fingers together tightly. He pulled Bucky close and wrapped his arms around his shoulders to hug him tight. He looked down at him, asking permission with his gaze if he could kiss Bucky. He hadn’t kissed him, properly, in two months, and he prayed that the moment wouldn’t be ruined by his request. To his shock, Bucky nodded and lunged up, kissing Steve openly as he wrapped his arms around his neck in delight. Steve chuckled, feeling the class of teeth and lips as they embraced fully after months of suffering. This was the end of their turmoil, they just knew it.

Steve pulled back, pressing his forehead to Bucky’s as he peered into his eyes with all the love in the world. “You did it, baby…” he murmured, nuzzling him happily in their glorious moment. “Now… Let’s go home, Bucky… together.”

* * *

 

In his office, Pierce sat at his computer, his eyes ghosting over the video that had been paused on his screen for the past ten minutes. He stared at the image of Bucky on the other side, his eyes flickering over his facial features as he tried to contemplate what he’d just seen. The video recording he had just finished watching was of their last therapy discussion the day before Bucky’s release that morning, and his notebook sat open on his desk as he glanced down at his notes for a long moment.

Bucky had indeed made quite a bit of progress as he’d recovered over the past months, and with his newest medication in his system, Bucky’s hallucinations had all but come to a complete stop. However, what Pierce couldn’t shake was the odd feeling that there was something Bucky still wasn’t telling them all, and his latest recording of their last therapy session held the key to that information.

The session had been mostly uneventful, with Pierce simply trying to dredge up any memories Bucky might have been repressing of his experience. What had really drawn him in, however, was the last few minutes of the video. Bucky had said something that made Pierce believe that there was something more to his patient’s memories than he was letting on, and that could unlock a clue to whom had been the one to kidnap Bucky and imprison him for so long.

His hand ghosted over to the keyboard and he hit the command key, replaying the last couple of moments of the video as he listened intently to the words that crackled from the small speakers in front of him. His eyes locked on Bucky’s as the younger man spoke, his expression lax and drugged as he responded to the doctor’s latest question.

 ** _“Bucky, can you tell me if you remember anything from your experiences that might help us better determine what it is you went through in the woods?”_** His own voice echoed from the speaker, making Bucky look up at the camera in front of him.

Bucky’s image stared into the camera for a moment, seemingly contemplating his words before he opened his mouth to speak. **_“I remember… he wanted me to stay. Stay with him, forever.”_** he slurred, shaking his head as he recounted that seemingly useless notion to the doctor in front of him. It was the same schpiel: the kidnapper wanted Bucky to believe he needed him. This wouldn’t help Dr. Pierce figure out anything at all. Still, he leaned in, knowing that the most important moment of the video was yet to come.

 ** _“Who wanted you to stay with him?”_** Pierce’s voice echoed over the speaker, prodding Bucky to elaborate further. The doctor stared at the video, his eyes really boring into Bucky’s face as he waited for the odd statement that caught his attention the first time.

Bucky simply stared into the camera for a moment; suddenly, just as he noticed the first time, Bucky’s eyes darted to the left and up, staring up over the camera and up to the farthest corner of the room. Pierce new that room well. It was the same wall Bucky had constantly spoken to in his hallucinations previously. He stared at the far wall for a beat, and his lips moved silently for a moment. Pierce watched as Bucky’s image suddenly gave the barest nod, and he looked back at Pierce over the camera. **_“He said he was going to come back for me. He will take me back when it is safe for him to do so. He loves me… he just loves me and he wants me to come home with him.”_**

Pierce listened to those words, his lip caught between his teeth. He looked down at his notepad as he listened to himself ask Bucky, again, who he meant by that.

Bucky looked up to the left again, staring at the far wall of the room; this time, when he spoke, he didn’t look away from the wall at all. “ ** _Nikolai… мой муж.”_**

Pierce paused the video, staring at the visage of Bucky on the screen. Bucky’s eyes had not strayed from the wall for the duration of their therapy, causing Pierce to cut their session short as he’d lost his attention for the rest of the day. Rubbing his eyes, Pierce looked down at his notepad, circling the Russian words he’d translated earlier. 

**_мой муж = My Husband._ **

Pierce stared at his notes for a moment. This time, as he did, he picked up his pen again, and wrote a second, short note beneath his translations. He’d missed it the first time, too intent on watching Bucky’s expression as he had examined the video previously. This time, however, he caught it, and confusion filled him as he looked up at the video.

With a tired sigh, Pierce shut the video off, and leaned back in his chair as he looked down at his notepad. His eyes skimmed over his latest note, wondering what in the hell it had to do with Bucky’s experience. He had an idea… but why had it only come up in their latest session, and not earlier? Suppression of experience? He didn’t know. But this time, after all of their previous sessions, Bucky had finally stated a name, and that alone could bring them closer to a clue on who had done this to this poor man for 5 solid years…

**_Who is Nikolai?_ **

Pierce gave up for the time being, and simply circled his note with a red pen before standing up from the chair to fetch himself a cup of coffee from the break room; he needed to clear his mind if he was going to figure out how this all tied together.

But there was no need to rush; he had time to figure it out. Bucky would eventually break through, and tell him what Pierce wanted to know. He knew he would get Bucky to crack; Pierce always had that way with his patients...

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for being so patient with me, guys! i know this chapter update was a long time coming, so I'm grateful to you all for hanging on while I wrote it. You're the best!!!
> 
> Part 2 of the Mama Au. Part 3 coming soon (hopefully).


	3. Homecoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Bucky return home after their time in the hospital. But it seems even with the warm welcome, things begin to go wrong for the two of them. Very wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After 8 solid months, I finally have an update for this darn story. I'm a fail author! Such Fail!!!! 
> 
> I did also manage to narrow down the entire story to 6 chapters, so hopefully with an end game in sight I'll be able to finally finish this story for you guys. Maybe just in time for halloween. Who knows! Anyway, those that subscribed to the horror, I hope you're not angry at me for taking so damn long to update! Enjoy! :)

Steve reached up, adjusting the rear-view mirror carefully before placing his hand back on the steering wheel. He glanced up in the mirror’s reflection and spotted Natasha’s car behind him. He smiled when he saw Sam wave from the passenger seat, clearly aware that Steve was looking at the two of them. Steve chuckled. He waved back before letting his hand drop between himself and Bucky.

After Bucky’s first steps outside the institution, the four of them had quickly vacated the mental institute’s property, crossing the frosty parking lot to their cars with the intent on finally getting the fuck out of there for good. It was unusually snowy for early March, though Steve wasn’t entirely too surprised. At least they weren’t going to be hit with anymore blizzards for the rest of the year. Now it was just a matter of waiting for the snow to melt for good and allow spring to arrive and bring on new changes for everyone.

Most of all, new changes for Bucky.

Steve let his hand dance over the back of his husband’s, before threading their fingers together. He lifted Bucky’s hand and pressed little kisses to his knuckles, glancing at him. “Hey, Buck… how’re you feeling?”

It seemed the earlier jubilation of being able to escape the institution had worn off already. Bucky was curled up in the passenger seat, his feet up on the cushion, and his knees tucked into his chest. He had his forehead pressed to the window and he stared out at the scenery with a tired sort of disinterest on his features. When Steve spoke, Bucky slowly looked away from the passing trees and his gaze landed on his spouse carefully. “Hmm?” he asked, as if he’d not heard him the first time.

“I said, how’re you feeling?” Steve asked. He continued to kiss those chapped knuckles tenderly, his eyes darting back to the frosty road before them as they made their way back to Warwick.

“Hmm…” Bucky shrugged a shoulder weakly before letting his forehead thump back against the window. “S’okay… tired. Little sick…”

Steve frowned, glancing over at him. It made sense; his medication had the predisposition to cause mild nausea. If this was the first time he’d been in a car in five years, he might have been feeling a little carsick. “I’m sorry baby. Do you need me to pull over?” he asked, gently squeezing his knuckles.

Bucky shook his head, not taking his eyes off the passing trees. “No… s’okay.”

Steve nodded, looking back to the road. Luckily they weren't that far from home at last. Maybe 30 minutes maximum if they didn’t hit any traffic. “Well, we’re almost home. Did you remember to eat something when you took your second dose?”

“... I didn’t take my noon pill yet…” Bucky said, sounding hesitant. He looked over at Steve, his eyes wide and frightened, like a child about to receive a beating from an upset parent. “I forgot… I’m sorry.”

Steve looked over at him, and then glanced down at the clock. It was already almost 3 pm. Even if he took it right when they got there, he’d have to wait 3 more hours to take his final dose for the day, and that’d screw up his whole cycle. Steve sighed, rubbing his temples before speaking up. “It’s okay, Bucky. I forgot to check… Just take your third dose later tonight and then start up again tomorrow. Do you remember what times?”

“5am, Noon, and 7pm,” Bucky parroted back, not looking the least bit happy about it.

“Yup. Good,” Steve smiled, glancing over at him. “You know I’m real proud of you, right baby?”

“Yeah…” Bucky sighed, though he didn’t sound quite so enthusiastic about it.

“Hey, what’s that about?” Steve asked, feigning a pout. “You don’t believe me?”

“No, I believe you,” Bucky said. He looked up at him, his frown deepening before he spoke. “It’s just… It’s hard for me to remember things. I have to take crazy pills. I’m scared. I’m not normal anymore, and I know you’re gonna get tired of it after a while.” He looked back out the window, his frown deepening. “Alotta people would…”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Steve cut in, looking at him carefully. “Don’t talk like that. I want to do this because I love you, okay?”

Bucky hesitated, before glancing back over at him carefully. “... Really?” he asked, sounding hopeful. He shifted in his seat to face Steve fully, his fingers digging into his knees with anticipation.

Steve smiled. He looked away from the road and met his spouse’s gaze head-on, smiling at him with all the devotion he could muster up. “Yeah, I do. I’ve loved you for a very long time, Bucky. And even while you were gone, I still loved you. I’m not gonna stop just because you have special needs now. That’s not how marriage works, got it?” He reached out, letting his fingers dance across Bucky’s cheek in a loving caress briefly. “I love you, Bucky. And I’m gonna take care of you as long as you need me to.”

Bucky stared at him, his eyes wide in delight. Perking up wildly, Bucky suddenly lunged, throwing his arms around Steve’s shoulders and planting a kiss on his cheek. “I love you too, Stevie!” He giggled into his ear. Bucky’s laughter didn’t stop as he pressed his lips to his cheek, again and again, and tightened his arms around his spouse.

“ _Whoa_!” Steve gasped, the sudden attack making him jar the steering wheel. The car swerved on the road for a moment before Steve got the wheels back under control. He flushed red, hearing Natasha blaring her car horn at them before he sheepishly waved back at them. “Thanks Bucky… I’m glad you love me but can you… not do that while I’m driving?” He laughed. Steve carefully patted Bucky’s arm, where it was still wrapped around his shoulders, and he turned his attention back to the road again. “Okay, back in your seat. This is really _not_ safe for you to be sitting like that.”

Bucky didn’t move. For the rest of the car ride home, his arms remained wrapped around Steve. Honestly, Steve was pretty sure this was beyond illegal, letting Bucky hold him like this…

But if it made Bucky smile, then he really couldn’t argue it.

* * *

 

The tiny caravan of cars finally pulled into 2409 Willow Point Drive at approximately 3:54pm that day. Unfortunately, they hadn’t missed out on some traffic like Steve had hoped, and they were delayed about 20 minutes more than they really should have. Steve’s arm had definitely fallen asleep after that long car ride; Bucky had dozed off on his side where he was wrapped around him, his face pressed into Steve’s shoulder as he snored quietly through the lull of car tires cutting across wet roads.

When they finally arrived, Steve pulled into the driveway and carefully extracted his arm from Bucky’s grip. Shaking the blood back into his limb, Steve fought back a hiss of pain at the pins and needles, flexing his fingers one by one until the tingle subsided. Only as he shifted and flexed his arm, his actions roused his spouse, and Bucky sat up, blinking blearily as he looked out the car window.

For a moment, his expression didn’t change. He simply stared at the exterior of the house for a moment, blinking slowly. Steve watched carefully, waiting to see if his husband would finally recognize the house. He might have only lived in it for a week before he’d been kidnapped, but surely he’d at least recognize it…

That didn’t prove to be the case. Instead of recognition, Bucky’s face only clouded over into confusion, and he looked over at Steve with a frown and a shake of his head. “Where are we?” he asked, his voice still groggy from the short nap he’d taken.

Steve slumped, disappointed that his spouse hadn’t recognized the house after all. “This is our house. You know… home?” he said, hopefully trying to prod his husband into remembering their first home together.

Bucky blinked at him, his eyes darting to the house again for a moment. After a time, he made a disappointed noise in the back of his throat and slumped back into the car seat with a frown. “We’re not going back to the cabin…?”

Steve froze, his eyes widening in shock before a sick sort of discomfort settled in the pit of his stomach. “Oh Bucky… no, no we’re not going back to the cabin. That’s not home. _This_ is home,” he said, gesturing to the house desperately.

Even still, Bucky didn’t look back at him. He simply stared at the house for a moment, almost petulant before he reached for the handle of the door. “Okay,” he said simply, though his tone spoke of something far more bothersome. He didn’t like the house; Bucky actually thought that when Steve promised him “home”, he thought he was talking about the cabin.

Steve didn’t know what to do with that.

Sighing heavily, Steve clambered from the driver’s side door and walked around to Bucky’s side of the car. He opened the door for him and helped Bucky get out, standing next to him silently. Steve wrapped his arm around his waist, pulling Bucky closer to his side before he turned to grab his suitcase from the back seat. It was a good thing Bucky really didn’t have anything to bring with him; Steve didn’t really want to let go of his husband anytime soon, especially after such a bothersome statement. He feared if he let go of him, Bucky would actually take off on him again to go looking for that goddamn cabin he’d been held prisoner in.

Steve wasn’t a vindictive man by heart, but he wished to God above, someone would burn the place to the ground and torment Bucky’s kidnapper as viciously as he’d done to Bucky. That seemed fair to him.

Just as he turned away from the car to lead Bucky inside, Steve heard Natasha pull into the drive behind them and he turned to greet them. A small, tired smile crossed his lips as he waved at them, watching Natasha and Sam both got out to join the two of them. “Hey,” he said, when the two of them approached the couple.

“Hey yourself,” Natasha chuckled, looking between the married couple before her smile fell. “What’s wrong?”

“He’s… not exactly excited about being here,” Steve said. He felt Bucky tug away from his side and he reluctantly let go, allowing Bucky the chance to explore the front yard for a minute to get used to his home. “He… he thought we were going back to the cabin.”

Neither Natasha nor Sam spoke up. They darted gazes between each other for a moment, silently communicating to each other what they were thinking; clearly, they were just as bothered by that odd realization as Steve was.

“Well… that’s something isn’t it?” Sam asked, looking up at Steve with a hopeful smile. He glanced over to where Bucky was poking around the bushes outside the house, and he nodded. “At least he seems to be taking to the house pretty well.”

Steve nodded, though he didn’t speak again. His gaze remained locked on his spouse, and he swallowed around the lump in his throat that threatened to overtake him. There went all of his hopes of this being a relatively easy transition back into their world…

“Hey, c’mon now, don’t look like that,” Natasha said, raising a brow at him before rubbing his arm. “He’s not upset. Maybe just confused, but he’s not upset. That’s a good thing! You knew going into this that it was going to take him time to get used to normal living again. He just spent 2 months in a mental hospital, and the only “home” he remembered for five years was that damn cabin. Give him a day or two.” She offered a hopeful smile. “He’ll come around.”

“Yeah– guess you’re right,” Steve sighed. He picked up his suitcase again and gestured with his head for his two friends to follow him inside. “C’mon. I can put on coffee if you want.”

“I wish I could, but I have to get back to work. I have to work late tonight to make up for leaving in the middle of the day,” Natasha said, looking properly disappointed as she stuffed her hands into her pockets.

“Same here, Nat has to take me back to the office. Got another appointment at 5 o’clock I need to get back to the office for,” Sam said, smiling up at him. “We just wanted to offer up a little support for the two of you when you came home. Besides,” Sam added, looking over to where Bucky was. He’d made it up to the front porch of the house and was curiously poking at the porch swing with a tentative hand. “I think you two need some time to get comfortable back home again.”

Understanding, Steve agreed and lead the two of them up to the house. They ascended the stairs and Steve approached Bucky, reaching out to take his hand in his. “Hey, Buck. Let’s go inside okay. It’s getting pretty cold out.” When Bucky nodded in return, Steve offered him a more confident smile and tightened his grip on his hand. With his spouse at his side, Steve slipped up to the door and unlocked it, letting the four of them inside. He glimpsed over the foyer of the house for a moment, letting himself get used to being home again after so long. Bucky might have needed time to get acclimated back to living again, but Steve even needed a moment to get used to the idea, _‘Yes… we’re finally home.’_

“Well, Buck?” Steve asked, smiling at him as he watched his husband creep into the house tentatively. “What do you think?”

Bucky didn’t speak. Instead, he wandered the front hall for a moment, looking over the slightly dusty walls and the quiet rooms on either side of the hallway together with growing interest. He poked his head into the side room, peering into the living room for a moment before he looked back at Steve. As he did, his lips cracked into a small grin, and he nodded. “S’pretty in here. I think I can like living here, instead.”

Steve tried not to let his words get to him; he kept his own smile plastered on his face, and nodded. “Good. I’m glad you like it here.” As he spoke, he heard the sound of feet pattering across the floor upstairs, and his smile brightened. This might help Bucky remember! “Hey! Do you remember Sarge?” he asked, looking back at Natasha and Sam. The two of them stood just in front of the door, watching with faint sympathy as Steve struggled to make Bucky as comfortable as possible. “You remember Sarge, right?”

Bucky looked back at Steve, his hand still resting on the side table he’d been examining. “I– I think so?” he said, biting his lip. He stared down at the floor, his brows furrowed in concentration before he looked up at Steve sadly. “Are you gonna be mad at me if I don’t?”

“No, baby. Of course I’m not gonna be mad,” Steve said, placating. He stepped up to Bucky’s side, wrapping his arm around his waist before tugging him away from the table. With a nod, he looked up and gave a sharp whistle, calling for the dog that was playing upstairs. “Sarge! C’mere boy!” he called, smiling down at his husband. Steve couldn’t wait to see the two bonding again. Bucky and Sarge had been glued to each other when they first got him, and the puppy had been absolutely devoted to his master. Steve remembered it well; Bucky had technically bought the dog for Steve, but it only took a few days for it to become clear who the puppy preferred of the two of them.

From upstairs, the four of them heard the thundering of paws galloping. With a yap, Sarge ran full tilt down the stairs towards Steve, panting happily as he crashed his way down.

Only, when he reached the bottom of the stairs, Sarge skidded to a halt. Staring at Bucky from a safe distance, his tail dropped down between his legs. The longer he stared at Bucky, the lower his tail drooped, until the dog was growling at Bucky from his vantage point at the base of the stairs.

Steve blinked, taken completely aback by the usually happy dog’s sudden change in demeanor. “Sarge?” he said, taking a step forward. “Sarge. Here.” Steve pointed to the floor in front of them, but still the dog didn’t move, nor cease his warning snarl.

At his right, Steve could feel Bucky shying away from the dog, and he looked over. To his shock, Bucky was staring at the dog with wide eyes, his lower lip trembling in fright as he tried to back away from him. “He doesn’t like me,” Bucky whispered, looking up at Steve as he curled into his side. “Stevie, the dog doesn’t like me.”

“Maybe he’s just not used to your scent,” Sam offered up from behind them. Steve turned to look at his friend, confused, and Sam shrugged slightly. “He probably smells like hospital. It’s not exactly a pleasant smell to begin with– and dogs have sensitive noses. Maybe the smell is throwing Sarge off. Maybe, Bucky just needs to be reintroduced to him.”

Steve nodded, looking at Bucky. Bucky had completely curled into Steve’s side, his fingers digging into his sleeve as he tried to hide behind his shoulder from the dog. “Hey, it’s okay,” Steve murmured. Carefully extracting his coat sleeve from Bucky’s grip, Steve took his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Just try to introduce yourself. Let him sniff your hand. Sarge is a good dog, I promise.”

Bucky looked up at Steve, his lower lip trembling harder.  He nodded at him, taking a few gulping breaths of air before turning to face the dog. Frightened, Bucky took a couple steps closer to Sarge, and slowly extended his hand to him. “... H-here… here doggie…” His tone was just beyond the realm of a whimper, and he looked back at Steve every few seconds, silently begging that he didn’t have to do this alone.

When he got closer to Sarge, the husky suddenly snarled, lunging forward towards Bucky with his teeth bared. He snapped his teeth at the outstretched hand, barking viciously as he charged at him in a frightening display of aggression Steve had never seen before.

Bucky screamed, leaping backwards from the dog. He stumbled right into Sam’s arms, and he scrambled away from the dog, screaming repeatedly as he tried to evade him. “ _No! No!!_ ” he shouted, sobbing in terror as Sam dragged him back from the dog.

Steve shouted, leaping in front of Bucky. He grabbed Sarge by the collar, his eyes wide as he stared down at the snarling dog in his grip. He could feel the coil of muscle beneath his fingers threatening to break free and rip his spouse to shreds. This wasn’t right. Sarge had never done this to anyone, _ever._ What in the ever loving fuck had just triggered this behavior?!

“SARGE!” Steve hollered. Grabbing the dog by the scruff, he yanked him back and dragged him down the hallway away from his terrified husband. “What the fuck is the _matter_ with you, dog?! Bad! No!” Struggling against 150 pounds of muscle, Steve yanked Sarge back, hearing a yelp of pain from the dog as he pulled his fur too hard,but Steve couldn’t stop– not when Sarge was literally on the precipice of ripping Bucky’s throat out. Finally, after wrestling him away from Bucky, Steve shoved the dog into the kitchen and barricaded the dog from running past him into the hall with his own body.

Down the hallway, Steve could hear Bucky sobbing in his new language, and the undertones of Sam and Natasha trying to comfort the frightened man in their grip. Steve felt his stomach clenching again and he looked down at the dog in his hands, watching in growing confusion as the dog quickly began to calm down, his snarls and snapping melting into whimpers and whines. He slowly loosened his grip on the dog, and he glanced down to see the husky turning suddenly complacent and calm in his grip.

Sarge turned, looking up at Steve with huge, blue eyes and a pitiful whimper in his throat. He pinned his ears back in fright, his tail still firmly tucked between his legs as he twisted, leaning up to lick Steve’s face in apology.

“Jesus Christ, Sarge, what the hell was that?” he asked. Brushing his hands along the velvety undercoat beneath his fur, Steve felt the dog going absolutely pliant in his grip, and he sat down on the floor next to the husky. Sarge leaned in, licking at his face in apology for his behavior. “Shit– you’re so lucky you didn’t bite him, dog.”

“Steve!” Natasha called, catching his attention. He looked up to see her approaching them, and her eyes were bright and furious. “Steve, what the hell is wrong with that dog?! He’s never done this to anyone before!”

“I– I don’t know,” Steve muttered. Christ that had scared him more than he’d wanted to admit. Watching his sweet buddy of five years, the one constant and comforting force in his life, suddenly turn vicious and attack someone without warning. “I have no fucking clue what that was all about.”

“Well you better get in here. Sam’s trying to comfort Bucky, but he’s tucked into the corner of the room bawling his eyes out.” Nat sighed, pacing the hallway in front of Steve. “Are you sure that Dr. Pierce isn’t some quack? Bucky doesn’t look like he’s ready to be out of the hospital yet– Christ, he’s acting like he’s fuckin’ five years old again...”

Steve glared up at her, his pulse skyrocketing for a moment before his fingers tightened at his sides. “Nat. If the _seasoned professional_ said he’s ready to go home, he must be ready to go home. He _said_ that Bucky was going to be emotionally compromised for a long time. He’s got schizophrenia! He’s gonna need time to come out of this!”

Getting to his feet, Steve felt his temper abating some. Natasha clearly took his words to heart, her eyes darting down to the floor guiltily as he scolded her. “Look…” he sighed, pushing his glasses up to his forehead. He rubbed his eyes tiredly. “I get that you’re worried for him. I’m scared too. But we need a little bit of time to get used to the house again, _especially_ Bucky.”

“I know Steve– it’s just– I’ve never seen anything like this before and I dunno how to cope. I’m worried that it’s gonna put a toll on you, too,” Natasha said, looking up at him. “Just _please_ tell me that if this gets to be too much, you’ll come to us.”

“I promise,” Steve replied, offering her a weak smile. He looked down to the dog at his side, seeing the husky staring off into the hallway with sudden intent. Before he could stop him, Sarge suddenly trotted forward, disappearing down the hall towards Bucky and Sam. “Sarge!” he gasped, running after him. “Sarge, don’t–!”

Horrible images crossed through Steve’s mind; images of Bucky screaming in pain, Sarge tearing into him like he was a threat tot his house. He could just imagine the blood spilled, the torn limbs, and all because of his negligence.

He should have been paying attention. He’d lost track of Sarge for two seconds while talking to Natasha. What if Sarge pounced on Bucky and bit him? Mauled him? He’d have to take Bucky back to the hospital, where they wouldn’t understand his spouse’s mental state well enough to take care of him. He couldn’t handle that sort of stress. Bucky wouldn’t live with being attacked by their pet. _‘Why the fuck weren’t you paying attention!?’_ Steve thought to himself angrily.

But just as he entered the foyer ready to grab the dog, he stopped. Watching in fascination, Steve and Natasha froze, watching the husky stare at Bucky, his steps stilted as he crossed the foyer. Steve’s eyes darted up to Bucky and Sam, swallowing thickly when the dog slowly approached Bucky to investigate him.

Bucky, whimpering into his hands, heard the click of claws on the floor, and he looked up with wide eyes. He shivered in Sam’s grip, scooting back against the wall. His eyes darted up and to the left, staring at something for a moment, until his eyes skirted down to the husky slowly approaching him. Sniffling, Bucky held back a whimper as he slowly extended his hand. “H-here– here boy.” His gaze continued to flicker up to the far wall every so often, his lips working silently before he’d look back down at the dog approaching him.

After a few halted steps, Sarge approached Bucky. His tail was still tucked up between his legs, but he didn’t growl this time. Instead, he whimpered in his throat, sniffing the outstretched hand in front of him for a moment, before he tentatively licked Bucky’s fingers.

Bucky flinched slightly, gasping as the dog began to lick his outstretched hand quietly. But instead of jarring his hand back, Bucky put on a brave face, biting his lower lip as he reached out to pet Sarge. Slowly, almost painfully slowly, he let his fingers glide along the dog’s fur, feeling the softness for a moment before his sniffles faded away, and a small smile crossed his lips. “S-Sarge…?” he whispered.

Sarge whined a little louder; he bumped his head into the outstretched hand, licking Bucky’s wrist more enthusiastically. The longer he fussed with his owner’s outstretched hand, the more his tail untucked itself, until it was wagging slowly behind him. With a little yip, Sarge scooted closer to Bucky, leaning in to lick his face in greeting.

Steve watched, completely floored by the sudden change in behavior between the two of them. His eyes darted down to Sam, finding only an equally stunned expression on his face.

“Well– that was– fast.” Sam muttered. He leaned back on his heels, watching Bucky and Sarge reconnect after five years. He shook his head in amazement, glancing up at Steve before he found the words to speak again. “Steve…”

“I dunno,” Steve cut in, shaking his head in wonder. Steve didn’t expect miracles often in his life, but if he had to ask for one, he wouldn’t have complained in the slightest if this had been the only one granted to him. “I have no idea. I didn’t do anything at all.”

“Could’a fooled me,” Sam commented. He got to his feet, watching Bucky begin to play with the dog in front of him, his smile returning to his face in record time. He too smiled and stepped back, shrugging into his jacket with a careful hand. “Should we leave you two to get acquainted with home again?”

Steve nodded. He watched as Bucky began running his hands along the dog’s face and neck, petting his thick fur with a newfound fascination. Sarge, on the other hand, only whimpered and whined, his tail wagging harder as he reconnected with his lost owner after five years. “Probably not a bad idea. You guys got stuff you have to do. Bucky and I just need to– to get used to this again.” He looked up at his friends, offering them grateful nods. “Thank you guys for coming with us. I think…” He swallowed, dropping down to his knee to carefully monitor dog and man in front of him. “I think I got it from here.”

Sam nodded stepping towards the door to leave. But at his side, Natasha scooted closer, her gaze locked on Steve for a moment.

“Are you sure, you got this? I-I can cancel my stuff and stay here for a while more if you need me to,” she asked, her words hesitant and unsure.

Steve nodded, giving her a grateful look. “I’m fine, Nat. I promise. If I really feel like I need help, I’ll call you okay? Just go do your stuff, you’ve done enough for me as it is. I’m–” He smiled up at them, still kneeling on the floor as he carefully monitored Bucky’s actions. So far, Bucky was acting alright, his demeanor a total contrast to his earlier fright of the dog. “I don't think I could have done this without you guys. Thank you.”

Nat and Sam both nodded, offering Steve sympathetic smiles. They cast one last glance down at Bucky, watching in amusement as the man began to scrub his fingers over the dog’s ears. A smile plastered itself on his face as he began to fuss with Sarge’s fur, getting him to growl in a friendly banter as he tugged him closer.

“We better get going,” Sam said, opening the door of the house. He let Natasha out, and then turned to wink at Steve. “We mean it, Steve. Call us right away.”

“I got it,” Steve answered, leaning back on his palms. When the door finally shut, he turned his attention back to Bucky and Sarge, watching with amusement as they played in the hallway of the house together.

“Sarge! Good boy– good boy!” Bucky grinned, looking up at Steve with a broad smile on his face. “I do remember Sarge now. I thought he was smaller...”

“Yeah.” Steve chuckled. “That’s kinda what happens when puppies grow up. They get bigger.”

Bucky grinned back. When Sarge pulled away from him to go investigate the state of his food bowl, Bucky’s gaze followed him for a moment before darting up to the far wall again. He stared at the corner of the room before uttering a faint giggle in the back of his throat.

Steve watched, taking note of Bucky’s sudden change in attention. He turned, glancing up at the far wall to see if he could spot whatever it was Bucky was looking at. There was nothing there, not even a picture. Steve paused, staring at the wall for a moment before he offered up an inaudible sigh. “We’ll have to remember to get your pills out of the suitcase…”

But just as he turned to gaze back at Bucky, he noticed his spouse get to his feet suddenly and slip down the hallway, his eyes darting this way and that as he explored the interior of the house. Steve watched him go, feeling finally relaxed that Bucky seemed to be accepting their house with new vigor.

Maybe this transition wouldn’t be so bad after all…

* * *

 

The first day back in the house was rather uneventful. After the chaos that had been reintroducing Bucky to his dog, the two of them had settled into silence, moving about the house like ghosts. Steve worked quietly, unpacking his bag and putting things away. He ran a dust rag over the house, took out pasta and sauce from the cupboard, and set about cooking a mediocre dinner of spaghetti. He’d wanted to make Bucky a more interesting “welcome home” dinner, but being gone for two months had resulted in most of his refrigerated food spoiling, and his cupboards a little bare of dried goods. Maybe he could take Bucky out to a nice, quiet restaurant that weekend in celebration (he wondered if that would be safe to do, considering Bucky’s… tearful outbursts. He understood them, but he didn’t quite know if the public wouldn’t ridicule his spouse for spontaneously bursting into tears, if it happened).

As for Bucky, well– the majority of the day was spent exploring the house, poking into closets and rooms, fiddling with the bathroom sink, and finally finding the backyard. He’d spent most of the day avoiding Steve, which was strange. Usually, Bucky was glued to Steve’s hip, his face pressed into his shoulder. But since the two of them had come home that morning, Bucky seemed like he wanted nothing to do with Steve. It was heartbreaking.

But Steve would take it in stride. It was only the first day home. Things would get better.

Finally, once Steve had finished cooking dinner, he went to go find his spouse. He found him in one of the upstairs offices, curled up on the floor and staring at an old book on dog breeds. Odd choice, but Steve wasn’t going to protest. Instead, he offered Bucky a hand, and told him food was ready and that if Bucky came with him, Steve would spend the rest of the evening focused solely on him if he wanted. To his delight, Bucky took the bait and followed him to the kitchen.

Steve had been so proud of him. He’d pressed kisses to his temples, raining praise down on Bucky as he walked Bucky to the kitchen, and dished up two plates. He was sparing with Bucky’s portion, rationalizing that if Bucky wanted more he could simply get him a second helping. He was relieved, this time, to find that Bucky tentatively asked for more food.

His joy was short lived, however. The minute Bucky had finished dinner and exclaimed how good the food was, Steve had teasingly reminded Bucky that his reward for eating all his food would be to take his pill, since he’d not had a chance to remind him before they started eating. Bucky had gone deathly silent at that notion, simply taking the pill into his palm. He stared at it, while Steve stood over him, before snatching up the glass of water and bolting from the room.

Good feelings gone, Steve simply stared after Bucky, feeling his heart cracking further in his chest. It seemed no matter what he did, he only got a few good minutes out of Bucky before his mood swings took over again, and shut him right back down. He knew he was being irrational, getting frustrated after only one day, but dammit he missed his husband!

After cleaning up their dinner mess, Steve went about the house, locking up for the night and making sure everything was in shape for bed. He fed Sarge, let him out the back door long enough to go to the bathroom before letting the dog back in and locking up the last door for the night. Once he was certain the house was secure again, he decided there was nothing else he could do but go upstairs. He could watch television in their bedroom, even if Bucky wasn’t feeling up to talking to him. Maybe he could coax him into snuggling with him on the bed while he watched T.V. That might help him feel better.

But once Steve had ascended the stairs and went to his bedroom, he found himself surprised at what he saw.

Bucky was laying curled up on the bed, completely shucked out of his clothing except for his boxer briefs, and staring at the far wall. His hair had been pulled from the bun Natasha had tied it back into, and on the side table, the glass of water he’d stolen from Steve sat quietly, half empty, and ignored. Bucky didn’t even flinch when Steve turned the light on, bathing the room in a soft glow.

“I took the pill,” Bucky said miserably. “I just forgot to bring the glass down when I was done.”

Steve listened. He looked over at the glass, and a small smile touched his lips. “It’s okay. We can take care of it in the morning.” Crossing the room, Steve sat down on the edge of the bed. He was delighted to see Bucky instantly scoot over to him and lay his head in his lap. “Babe, how come you get so upset every time I ask you to take your meds? You know they’re only there to help you get better right?”

Bucky shrugged. He looked up at Steve from where his head was pillowed on his thigh, and he frowned. “Cause I hate feelin’ like I’m fuckin’ crazy. Taking medicine means I’m crazy, and I’m not Steve. I swear, I’m not.”

Steve’s heart broke at those words. He listened to Bucky’s pleas, the faint whimpering in the back of his throat. For a moment, Steve didn’t speak, simply brushing his fingers through his husband’s long hair. After a time, he found his voice again and he looked down at him to tilt his head back. Maybe if he explained it to him like he would a child, Bucky would understand. “Listen to me. You’re _not_ crazy, Bucky. You’re sick; there’s a big difference. And medicine helps when you’re sick. That’s all it is.”

Bucky sniffed. Looking up at Steve, he tried to calculate the truth in his words. “But I don’t feel sick…”

“Sometimes, people don’t feel sick when they are,” Steve said quietly. He looked down at himself and gestured with a weak hand. “I’m sick. I have asthma remember? I have to take medicine for that, even though I don’t look sick. It’s the same thing.”

Bucky nodded. It was a weak nod, but he seemed to accept Steve’s words at that. “Okay…”

Steve smiled. He felt a little better, now that he’d broken through some of Bucky’s walls. They fell into comfortable silence; Bucky lay with his head in Steve’s lap and Steve simply brushed Bucky’s hair with his fingers. But after a time, Steve looked down at Bucky, and offered him a smirk. “How come you took your clothes off? Are you hot?”

Bucky shook his head. He looked up at Steve, leveling him with a long gaze before he clambered up to his knees. Kneeling on the bed in front of Steve, he offered him a long look before leaning in. Without preamble, he wrapped his fingers around the back of Steve’s neck, pulling him into a deep kiss as his free hand traced down the front of Steve’s chest. It didn’t stop there, as Bucky reached down, slowly, and began to trace his fingertips over Steve’s crotch in soothing, enticing strokes.

Steve gasped. He found himself totally surprised at Bucky’s reaction, and he pulled away to look up at him in surprise. Dr. Pierce had warned him that his medication may lower his libido, but from the look on Bucky’s face, he looked like he most certainly wanted to crawl right into Steve’s lap.

Briefly, Steve kicked himself mentally for this. He didn’t care how many times Dr. Pierce had assured him it was alright; he still felt odd even remotely thinking about having sex with Bucky in this state. And now his body was beginning to react to his touches, spurred on by 5 years of celibacy. He felt like he should have been disgusted with himself as he grew hard almost instantly in his jeans. He should have been disgusted with himself.

But it had been so long since he’d held Bucky… been so long since he kissed him, touched him, made love to him…

Shaking himself back to the present for a second, Steve tightened his fingers around Bucky’s shoulders and pushed him back. “Bucky– are you– hey, look at me babe,” he murmured. Cupping his husband’s jaw in his hands, he tilted his head up to meet his gaze. “Hey, look at me. Remember what Dr. Pierce said. Listen carefully to me and answer me: Do you want to fool around with me?” A small part of him prayed that Bucky said no. The rest of his consciousness prayed he said yes. _‘Jesus, I really am a fuckin’ pig…’_

When Bucky nodded, giving him an impatient look, Steve relented. Bucky had answered him of his own volition. His eyes were clear, he looked totally alert. Maybe it was alright. Maybe he could allow himself this time with Bucky, after all. His sub consciousness jumped for joy at the notion, and he couldn’t stifle the laugh that left him at that thought.  “Okay then. Just remember, if you want to stop at all, you speak up right away. Don’t wait or anything like that.”

Bucky whined. Nodding up at him, he didn’t wait for Steve to react before he was crawling into his lap. Straddling the blond’s waist, Bucky rolled his hips down against his thighs, giving him a needy look as he wrapped his arms around his neck. “I won’t, Stevie, I promise. Just please… please?” he asked. He rocked his hips forward, gliding his interested cock up the expanse of Steve’s belly, before rolling his hips back and repeating the action. Muttering pleas under his breath, Bucky’s hips picked up pace, rocking back and forth in his lap until he’d picked up an insistent rhythm of rutting against his stomach like he was starved for it.

Steve fought back a moan. Biting his lip, he moved his hands and cupped Bucky’s thighs by the juncture of his hips to massage the muscles carefully. He didn’t really know how far to truly go, or how much to let loose. After 5 years, his body was certainly craving the attention given to him so suddenly, but he didn’t want to run the risk of scaring Bucky by moving too quickly.

“Stevie!” Bucky whined louder. He rutted up against his stomach more insistently, pushing himself against Steve for friction. “Please? Please, please. Just a little more? I’ll be good, I promise. I’ll take my meds without you telling me, and I’ll eat. I promise!”

“Whoa, hey,” Steve muttered. Looking up at Bucky, he moved to cup his husband’s cheeks in his palms. He rubbed the pads of his thumbs over Bucky’s cheekbones, before brushing his dark hair back from his face. “You don’t have to make promises. If you want to sleep with me, you don’t have to trade anything for it.” With a reassuring smile, Steve turned them. Pushing Bucky to his back, he lay his husband out on the bedding before fitting himself between his legs. He could see the proud jut of his cock through his underwear, and he fought the urge to drool over it. It’d been so long since he’d gotten to ride that…

However, before he could remove his shirt, he felt a hand trace up his arm. Looking up, Steve caught sight of Bucky giving him a tiny little look, and he felt a shiver of sympathy. Bucky looked so small and so desperate. It would take Steve ages to get used to the idea of considering Bucky small and weak. After all this time, he didn’t know if he’d get used to the change, of becoming the caretaker and the strong one, when for the longest time, it had been both of them against the world. Both of them, equal fighters and watchers for each other. Both of them, equal in everything they did, no matter what kind of trouble they faced.

“Stevie…” Bucky’s voice cut in. Steve shook himself back to the present, looking down at his hesitant husband. “Will you–“ he stopped, looking up at Steve with big, watery eyes. “Will you please fuck me?”

The question came, awkward and strangely infantile from Bucky’s lips. Steve blinked. Looking down at Bucky, his hands hovered at his waist before they dropped to his own thighs. Bucky wanted him to top? But– Bucky never bottomed. In all the years they had been together, Bucky had never bottomed once. It had really been a mutual decision between the couple. Steve liked being Bucky’s bottom, and Bucky enjoyed taking care of his spouse’s needs. Now, all of a sudden he wanted to be the one claimed, leaving the possession to Steve and Steve alone.

Then it occurred to him. After everything Bucky had been through, he might have wanted the comfort that Steve could give him; perhaps handing over a bit of control so his overtaxed mind could focus on something pleasant this time.

Steve resolutely refused to think of the alternative. The idea of sexual assault on Bucky’s part had never come up in conversation from Dr. Pierce. Therefore it couldn’t have possibly happened. It couldn’t possibly be an explanation for Bucky’s sudden submissive behavior.

Inhaling through his nose, Steve pushed the ugly thoughts from his head and offered Bucky a small smile. He nodded a little, tugging his t-shirt off and throwing it to the floor. “Okay, Buck. I can do that, baby.”

“You won’t be mad?” Bucky asked timidly. He fiddled with the fingernails on his left hand (they were still brittle and thin from growing back in from the cuticle fully), and he bit his lip. “I know you don’t– like it when you’re not on bottom, but–“ Bucky inhaled, biting his lip harder. If Steve wasn’t mistaken, he swore he saw a dot of blood on his lip. “Please?”

Jesus Christ, how could Steve _possibly_ say no? Smiling a little, Steve leaned in. He pressed his lips to Bucky’s forehead, feeling his temperature. He felt nice and comfortable, which was a plus. He didn’t want to make this any less comfortable than Bucky needed it to be. “Okay, okay. Just relax alright? I’m gonna go get something from the bathroom.”

With that, Steve clambered off of Bucky’s lap and made a beeline for the bathroom. He couldn’t remember if he still had a bottle of lube in there. Five years had been a long time to not consider being prepared. Like he would have possibly ever thought of sleeping around while he was looking for Bucky. Honestly, Steve was certain he wouldn’t find any…

But after a quick search of the bathroom, Steve was surprised to find a small bottle of cooling lube in the back of the bathroom drawer. It was an older bottle, but as far as he knew, lube didn’t expire. It should work.

Palming the bottle, Steve went back into the bedroom, only to stop mid-step. While he was gone, Bucky had completely removed his underwear, leaving him totally naked on the bed. He was stroking himself slowly, staring up at the ceiling with a blank expression on his features. He almost looked bored, like Steve had taken all of the emotion out of the room with him when he left. Like he wasn’t even enjoying masturbating.

Frowning a little, Steve crossed the room and knelt on the bed. The minute he did, Bucky looked up at him and the smile returned to his lips. Without bidding, Bucky sat up, clambering over to Steve’s side. He grabbed the bottle of lube from Steve’s hands and tossed it to the bed before shoving him down to the mattress without a word.

Steve bounced back on the mattress, his head now at the foot of the bed. He looked up in time to see Bucky attack the button of his jeans, tearing them open with a hungry intent. His gaze remained locked on Steve’s waist as he worked, finally shoving the denim far enough down his legs that he could get his hands on his cock. With a faint sound in the back of his throat, Bucky reached down and pulled Steve’s dick free, palming it instantly. Without a word, he began to stroke Steve’s length hard and fast, slicking his dry palm over him again and again.

Steve gasped. His eyes widened as he stared up at his desperate spouse above him. Reaching down, he tried to grab at Bucky’s wrist, to slow him down before he got himself ahead of the program. “Buck… hey.” Steve murmured. He wrapped his fingers around Bucky’s forearm, tugging on it just a bit to get him to slow his hand. “Bucky, look at me. Stop, okay? Slow down, baby, I promise we’re gonna get there.”

Bucky whined. Shaking his head, he tore his gaze away from Steve’s lap. But he didn’t look at Steve. No, instead, he cast his focus to the other side of the room, where itlocked on the far wall, unblinking. Steve couldn’t tell if it was the shadow Bucky cast over him or not, but as he stared up at his husband, he could have sworn he saw Bucky’s eyes widen, pupils dilating dangerously. Steve saw Bucky’s lips part, moving almost imperceptibly above him as he continued to stare at that far wall.

Ever vigilant, Steve’s senses went on high alert. He looked up at the wall, looking for anything Bucky was staring at it. With Bucky’s hand no longer on his cock, he could focus a little more and he scanned the other side of the room for any sort of distraction. There was none to be found.

Now, just confused, Steve looked up at Bucky, his mouth opening to question what he was staring at. However, before he could, Bucky’s eyes widened impossibly further until they were bugged in open terror. Uttering a screech, Bucky suddenly tore himself off of Steve’s lap, his hand going to the bottle of lube on the bed. Screaming at the top of his lungs, Bucky threw the bottle across the room as hard as he could, hard enough that the moment the old plastic hit the  adjacent wall, the bottle exploded, leaving a splatter of viscous fluid running down the wall like desaturated blood. His eyes never left the wall he was staring at, as if he were expecting something to come out of it and eat him alive.

Shrieking and sobbing, Bucky shot off of Steve’s lap, falling backwards off the bed, where he hit the floor in a clutter of limbs. He scrambled backwards, crab walking across the floor until his bare back hit the far corner, and he curled himself as small as he possibly could, his knees tucked into his chest and his arms wrapped around them. _“No, no, no!”_ Bucky wailed, rocking on the floor, totally naked and trembling viciously.

Steve was completely floored. He’d jumped the minute Bucky had screamed practically in his ear, sitting bolt upright as he watched his husband scrambling away from the far wall like that. He watched, frozen in place as Bucky curled into the corner of the room, reduced to nothing more than a whimpering figure, his head folded in his arms as he wailed and sobbed openly.

It took Steve a split second to come back to himself. Jumping off the bed, he yanked his jeans back up around his waist and dropped down in front of Bucky to entangle his own arms around him. “Bucky! BUCK!” he shouted over his screams. To his amazement, his voice seemed to grab Bucky’s attention, and the brunet immediately collapsed into his arms, tucking himself into Steve’s bare chest like he was his only lifeline. “Bucky, what the hell is the matter?! What’s wrong, baby, please tell me!” he whispered. Cooing and soothing him, Steve held him close as Bucky wept into his chest like a child.

“I-I’m-! I’m-! I’m sorry!” Bucky hiccupped. Shaking his head viciously, he wrapped his arms around Steve’s shoulders, holding him like a lifeline as he pressed his wet, snotty face to his bare chest and bawled. “I’m sorry! I won’t– I won’t do it again. I won’t I swear, I swear, I’m sorry, please don’t be mad at me!”

“Christ,” Steve breathed. The two of them didn’t move as Steve continued to comfort his spouse. He held him gently, running his fingers up his bare back, and brushing his bearded chin over the crown of Bucky’s head. “Jesus… Bucky I’m not mad at you. I swear, okay? I swear, you’re not in trouble. Baby, _please_ listen to me. You’re _not_ in trouble, I swear on my soul. Okay?”

Bucky didn’t answer him. He continued to cry, his sobs ebbing into the quiet room around them both. Silently, Steve cursed himself for forgetting to remind Bucky to take his meds earlier that day. It seemed that even one missed dose would be enough to throw Bucky completely into the deep end. At least before, Steve had the support of the medical staff and the doctor to help him when Bucky lost it. Now, he was completely on his own. A small, miniscule part of him began to kick himself for taking Bucky home. He clearly wasn’t ready to be out of the institute. Natasha had been right all along.

But then again…

Then again, Bucky had been so good. Aside from the scare with Sarge, he’d been totally fine all day. He’d eaten food, he’d taken his other dose, and he’d behaved around Steve. Maybe… maybe it was just because it was now nighttime in a new place. Maybe Bucky had gotten himself worked up, hormonally and emotionally, and then scared himself.

Maybe _Steve_ had scared him a little when he’d grabbed his arm.

Fuck it was all so confusing. Closing his eyes, Steve huffed through his nose, and pressed his lips to Bucky’s forehead. Tilting his head up to him, Steve offered a small smile down at Bucky. “Oh baby…” he murmured. Reaching up, he brushed his fingers over the tears on Bucky’s face, wiping away the salty tracks and the faint traces of mucus under his nose from his tears. He silently dried his fingers off on his jeans, before pressing a loving kiss to Bucky’s forehead. “Hey, hey. It’s okay, baby. I’m okay. You’re okay. We’re home and we’re safe and it’s all gonna be okay. Do you believe me?”

Minutes ticked by. Gradually, Bucky’s sobs abated, and he hiccupped softly. He stared up at Steve, his bloodshot eyes wide in disbelief. As if he were having a hard time processing Steve’s actions, Bucky reached up and traced his fingers over his lips. He traced them around his mouth, down to feel the scruff of his beard, and then traced down the vein in his throat. “I really like your beard…” he breathed, calmer than he had been moments ago.

Steve smiled. It was an awkward smile, but a smile nonetheless. He nodded a little, turning to press his lips to Bucky’s forearm. “Yeah, I kinda like it too. I think I’ll keep it, if you want me to.”

“Yeah. I do.” Bucky murmured dreamily.

Steve smirked. He nodded down to his spouse before pulling back. “Let’s get you into bed. You’ve had a big enough day and you need sleep.”

“But what about–“ Bucky stopped. For a second, his gaze darted to the far wall, staring at it for a beat. However, before Steve could even contemplate turning to follow his gaze, Bucky’s focus snapped back on Steve. “What about sex? Don’t you want it? Don’t you want–“ Bucky swallowed thickly. “Don’t you want me?”

Eyes wide in disbelief, Steve stared down at Bucky. Fuck, even after his freak out, Bucky still was wondering if Steve wanted to have sex with him. He felt awkward about the idea of sleeping in his underwear next to him, let alone fucking him now! Why the hell would that be the first thought on Bucky’s mind? “Yeah, baby. I do want you. Just–” He bit his tongue, thinking quickly. His words could literally be his saving grace or the source of his biggest headache that night. He had to be careful. “I think it’s just that you should sleep. I’m not going anywhere. I still want to have sex with you. Just not tonight, okay? You just came home from the hospital and you need rest.”

“Oh,” Bucky murmured. He looked down at his lap, down to his flaccid cock between his legs and shivered. “You gonna sleep with me tonight? Or are you gonna leave me?”

“I’m sleeping with you tonight. You can even use me as a pillow,” Steve promised. Getting to his feet, he offered Bucky a hand, and smiled down at him with a reassuring look. “Let’s go cuddle in bed, alright?”

“O-okay,” Bucky muttered. Reaching out, he wrapped his fingers around Steve’s, hoisting himself to his feet. He stood up in front of Steve, hunching up and wrapping his arms around Steve’s torso meekly. He shivered visibly, ducking his head from Steve until his hair hung in a dark curtain over his face. “Okay. I’m ready.”

Steve frowned. His gaze ghosted over Bucky’s figure, noticing the goosebumps all over his skin. Odd, really. The room was actually quite warm.

Still, he took it as the hint that it was and quickly went over to the dresser. He opened the top drawer, pulling out a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt from inside. They were Bucky’s clothes, though Steve knew they would be rather baggy on him now. With the clothing in hand, Steve turned back to Bucky and guided him to sit on the bed.

One by one, Steve slipped Bucky’s legs into the sweatpants before asking Bucky to stand up. Bucky did as he was told, watching mutely as Steve pulled the sweats up his legs and around his waist, before cinching the tie at his hips. Steve got to his feet and carefully helped Bucky into the t-shirt before rubbing his hands up and down his arms. “Go get under the covers. I need to get something to clean up the stuff on the wall.”

“Are you gonna come to bed soon?” Bucky asked. He almost sounded fearful, as if Steve would change his mind and never come back again. His fingers tightened into fists at his sides and his shoulders shook harder still.

“Cross my heart, I’m coming back to bed,” Steve said. For emphasis, he crossed an ‘x’ over his heart, and smiled down at Bucky. When he received a relieved nod from the brunet, he patted his cheek and pressed a kiss to his lips. He turned Bucky on his heel, marching him to the bed and pulled the covers back to allow Bucky to crawl in. With a tender hand, he tucked the blankets up around his shoulders, and leaned in to press a kiss to his lips. “I’ll be in bed in a few minutes okay?”

Bucky nodded. He gave Steve a determined look, before snuggling further into the blankets. “I’ll wait up for you.” He spoke with the determination of a young boy eager to stay up all night waiting for Santa Claus, his eyes locked on Steve as he lay his head on the pillow comfortably.

Steve smirked. Reaching down, he brushed his thumb over Bucky’s jaw once more. He leaned back and made a quick jog to the bathroom to grab a towel. He didn’t really feel like washing the wall that night. He could do that part another time. Right now, he just wanted to get the slick shit off the wall and throw the broken bottle away before Bucky stepped on it and cut his foot.

With a towel in hand, Steve returned to the bedroom. He cast Bucky a thumbs up, watching with a smile as Bucky gave him a thumbs up in return, before burrowing into their blankets again. Steve smiled, fighting back a laugh as he watched his husband wrap himself up so thoroughly. Shaking his head, Steve turned for the wall and began to mop up the sticky fluid. A lot of it had run down to the floor already, but it was thin enough that he really only had to swipe the towel over it once to clean it up. Pleased that it didn’t make too much of a mess, Steve threw the towel into the bathroom hamper and tossed out the bottle, before finally shutting the lights off.

Casting the room in darkness, Steve turned for the bed, ready to shuck off his pants and crawl in. However, his hands stopped at his waist, considering what had just happened. Bucky had lost his mind over the whole failed act just a few minutes ago. Bucky was still recovering and healing. Bucky had suffered insurmountable torment for 5 fucking years.

Steve really didn’t want to think of the implications, but he really couldn’t ignore the possibility. If Bucky’s kidnapper had been cruel enough to feed him raw animal carcasses and make him live in his own excrement for 5 fucking years, there was no saying the fucker _wouldn’t_ stoop to taking advantage of Bucky and raping him repeatedly.

Maybe Steve should ask Bucky about it another time. Maybe not. Either way, Steve was more than ready to go on a manhunt and slaughter the motherfucker for everything he did to his husband.

With that thought in mind, Steve slumped and turned for the dresser. He pulled out a pair of sleep pants and a black shirt, quickly kicking his jeans off and pulling his pajamas on. Once he was completely covered, he turned back for the bed.

Sure enough, Bucky was still awake, staring at him from beneath the blankets; just two pinpricks of light in the room as he stared at Steve silently. “You look like a raccoon in his burrow,” Steve said quietly.

“Raccoons are mean.” Bucky said matter-of-factly. “They steal food and bite. I like deer better. Deer are nice.”

“Well I guess you’re a deer then, because you’re pretty nice,” Steve chuckled. He relaxed when he saw Bucky smile brightly at him through the dark, before he finally crawled into bed. Instantly, he found himself with an armful of Bucky; Steve stifled a laugh the minute Bucky latched onto him, burrowing his face into the crook of his neck and shivering. “You’re really cold aren’t you?”

“M’always cold,” Bucky murmured against his neck. “I feel like winter all the time.”

“Well,” Steve began. He pressed his lips to Bucky’s crown and lingered. “You don’t have to worry about that. Spring is coming, and things will warm up. I promise you that. Now get some sleep. I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

“Okay, Stevie. Good night.”

Steve sighed in content. He closed his eyes, feeling exhaustion pulling at his vision. As he drifted off to sleep, he murmured his own parting wish to Bucky before slipping off into sleep.

He would never be sure if he heard him correctly. Perhaps it had been nothing more than the beginning of dreams. But as Steve slipped off into slumber, he could have sworn he heard Bucky bid goodnight to the silent room around them in Russian to an invisible entity around them.

* * *

 

The sky was still pitch black out when the alarm on his phone started ringing. 5 am came quickly when one wasn’t eager for it. Steve groaned in protest, slapping his hand at the table next to him for a moment in hopes to silence the annoying sound that was trying to wake him before humanly necessary.

After a moment, his hand connected with his cell phone and he felt the device vibrating against his fingertips. Still in a half-drowsy stupor, Steve plucked the device up and silenced the alarm for the time being. “Mm… fuckin’ thing…” he grumbled sleepily, burying his face in the pillow again to try and salvage some much-wanted shut-eye while he could.

But just a few minutes later, the snooze on his alarm tripped again, and began to blare loudly into the room once again. Growling in frustration, Steve looked up at the table, blinking sleep from his eyes as he picked up his phone and muted the alarm for good. But as he stared at the now-silent phone for a second, it began to click in his mind what exactly that alarm meant.

“Nngh... pills...” he slurred, rolling to his back. “Hey... Bucky… Bucky, get up. Time to take your meds.”

But when he rolled over and glanced to his spouse’s side of the bed, he didn’t see a figure lying next to him in the dark. In fact, the blankets had already been kicked off to the side, the pillow disturbed and lumpy from a rough night’s sleep. Steve stared at the empty side of the bed, his mind trying to catch up with the moment. “Bucky?” he mumbled, sitting up and taking a look around the room again.

There was no sign of him.

Steve sobered up immediately, shaking the sleep from his head as he grabbed for his glasses on the side table. “Buck!” he repeated, climbing from the bed. He got to his feet and shivered as the chill of the wooden floorboards beneath his feet caught up to him. He wrapped his arms around his torso to try and ward the chill off and set off through the second floor of the house to try and find where Bucky had gone to. “Dammit now is _not_ the time to be hiding, babe!” He sighed to himself, exasperated.

Steve searched the second floor of the house, but to no avail; Bucky was nowhere to be found, and it began to gnaw at his thoughts as he wondered where the hell he would have gone. Instantly, Steve began to panic, wondering if he’d forgotten to lock the house up and Bucky had slipped outside. Stupid, really… if Bucky wanted to get outside, he could figure out how a lock worked.

With that thought in mind, Steve descended the staircase to the main floor, where he found Sarge laying on the wooden floor, staring intently into the kitchen. Even in the dark, Steve could see that Sarge’s hackles were raised, as if he were readying to pounce on something in the dark of the hallway. Steve bent, running his fingers over the dog’s head to reassure him that he was perfectly fine and nothing was wrong. Still, Sarge didn’t move a muscle, still staring resolutely into the hall that would lead to the kitchen.

That’s when he heard it; Steve caught the sound of muffled speaking coming from the kitchen. He looked up into the dark, just in time to hear a faint giggle, followed by the rumble of more talk. Steve slowly got to his feet and with as much care as he could manage, crossed the hallway towards the kitchen. As he drew closer, the talking grew more insistent, almost frightened sounding, and Steve heard the unmistakable gasp of pain, followed by a whispered litany of “No, no... I’m sorry. I won’t! I promise!”

The hair on the back of Steve’s neck rose up in horror. That was definitely Bucky talking. But why did he sound so terrified? Why did he sound like he was in pain? Instantly, Steve’s gaze darted over to the front door, expecting to see the handle turned, the lock jimmied open. Anything that would make sense.

But there was nothing there. The door was firmly shut and locked, hell there wasn’t even the markings of water or mud on the floor. If someone had gotten into the house, they definitely would have dragged in some sort of moisture. There was still fucking snow on the ground, for Christ’s sake!

“Buck!” Steve called, turning for the kitchen once again. He had no idea what the hell Bucky was doing in there, but whatever it was, it definitely didn’t sound good.

Without waiting for a response, Steve strode into the kitchen, his hand going for the light switch. Instantly, the kitchen was bathed in a glow of white light, and he blinked heavily against the harsh glare before his gaze landed on Bucky.

There was nothing there. Nothing at all; just Bucky standing next to the sink, holding a glass of water in his hands and looking guiltier than Steve had seen him in a long time.

“Buck?” Steve rubbed at his face to wipe away the burn of light against his tired eyes. He looked around the kitchen for a moment, hoping to catch any sight of something out of the ordinary. There was nothing; just Bucky standing there, holding the water in a vice-like grip, and staring at him with wide, frightened eyes. “What– what are you doing?”

Bucky lowered his glass, giving Steve a small smile. “Taking… taking my pill,” he said. He held the glass out to him tentatively, showing Steve that he’d drunk half the water in the glass. He lowered his gaze to the floor, tentatively flickering it to the side where the pantry sat tucked away in the farthest corner of the kitchen.

Steve stared at him for a moment before glancing into the corner as well. There was nothing there. “Okay… that’s good. I’m glad you remembered on your own,” Steve muttered, almost suspicious in his tone. “Who were you talking to?”

Bucky didn’t answer for a moment. Staring at the floor, Bucky quietly put the glass down on the counter, the cup balancing precariously on the edge, before he stepped away from the sink. Instantly, he scooted up to Steve’s side and wrapped his arms around his waist, tugging him into a hug where he buried his face in the side of his neck. “No one…” he mumbled, his words muffled by the hem of Steve’s t-shirt. Before Steve could question him further, Bucky leaned back and pressed a kiss to his husband’s cheek before finally letting go of him. “I’m gonna go back to bed…”

“Okay, baby…” Steve whispered. He kept his gaze carefully trained on his spouse, watching him slip from the room. What he found strange, though, was the sheer atmosphere of the kitchen shifting with each tentative step Bucky took. Within seconds, the air in the kitchen seemed to warm considerably the minute Bucky was gone, and Steve found himself shivering slightly at the strange change that overtook the entire room.

Shaking off the odd sensation, Steve turned back to the counter and crossed the room on silent feet. He carefully picked up the cup so that it wouldn’t fall to the floor and dumped the rest of the water down the drain. He couldn’t be sure, but as he watched the water swirl away down the drain, he thought he saw the distinct presence of white powder washing down the drain and gone for good.

Staring into the sink, Steve didn’t move for a second, wondering what it was he saw being washed down the drain and out of sight forever. Briefly, he wished he’d taken a better look before dumping the water, but what was done was done. He placed the cup into the drying rack and turned to follow his spouse upstairs for a few more hours of sleep. But as he passed the pantry, Steve paused, his eyes lingering on the door for a moment. What exactly about that simple white door did Bucky find so interesting that he couldn’t take his eyes off of it? Steve didn’t know for sure.

Well… it was nothing. It had to be nothing, really. This was just the machinations of an early morning and Bucky coping with such huge changes in his life. There was nothing wrong. Steve was sure of it…

* * *

 

Blinking his eyes open, Steve stared up at the ceiling of their bedroom, perturbed by the presence of sunlight streaming into the room from the window. He hadn’t actually intended on falling that deeply asleep again after his little venture into seeking out Bucky that morning. But when he turned to glance at the clock, Steve was surprised to find it was well past 11 in the morning.

With a groan, Steve sat up and padded his way to the bathroom to relieve himself, wondering if Bucky had gotten any sleep after he’d taken his pill that morning. Once again, Bucky was nowhere to be found in their bedroom, but Steve could hear the sound of laughter coming from the back yard. More specifically, Bucky’s laughter.

Shutting the sink off, Steve paused as he listened to the muffled sounds of Sarge barking loudly, and Bucky giggling to himself in tandem to Sarge’s loud play. A smile crossed Steve’s lips as he realized he had nothing to worry about. Bucky was clearly just playing with Sarge in the backyard. There was nothing wrong, or weird about that.

Deciding to forego a shower for the time being, Steve crossed into the bedroom. He changed into some jeans and a sweater, and trotted down to the kitchen to prepare a late breakfast for the two of them. His spouse was due for his noon pill in just a little bit. Despite the strange new cycle their lives had taken, Steve actually felt a little more comfortable than he had in a long time. Perhaps they really could develop a semblance of normality again.  He was going to have to thank Sam for his unerring confidence with a nice dinner or a gift or something…

But just as he descended the stairs to head into the kitchen again, Steve heard a knock coming from the front door. Confused, he crossed the hallway and opened the door to find Sam standing on the other side, smiling as brightly as the spring sun behind him.

“Oh! Hey, Sam. What brings you by this afternoon?” Steve replied, letting him in. “Want some eggs? I just woke up, so I thought I’d cook for Bucky.”

“Nah, I just ate, but thanks. Yeah, sorry about the sudden arrival, I just wanted to check up on the two of you and see how you’re doing today. I tried calling you but your phone went to voicemail,” Sam replied. He hung his coat up in the hallway and followed Steve into the kitchen.

Steve frowned. He must have forgotten to turn the volume back up on his phone after he’d silenced the alarm. “Sorry, guess my phone was shut off.”

“No worries man,” Sam reassured him, sitting down at the kitchen table. “Where’s Bucky?”

Looking up from the fridge, Steve peeked out the kitchen window to the yard, where he saw Bucky running the length of the yard, a huge smile plastered on his face. He was looking over his shoulder as he ran, and the sound of Sarge barking could be heard. “He’s out in the yard with Sarge. I’m real glad to see that they’re getting along again.” Steve sighed, offering Sam a relieved nod.

“Yeah, I’m real glad to hear that too, Yesterday was a little weird, but– guess it takes a bit for someone to get used to a dog they haven’t seen in five years,” Sam mused, rubbing his knuckles along his jawline in contemplation.

“I don’t doubt it. But everything’s going well today, so far.” Steve said, turning his attention back to the stove. The skillet was hot and spitting as he cracked two eggs onto the surface, and plucked up a spatula to scramble them on the surface. “This morning was a little weird though.”

“Weird?” Sam asked, looking up at him from where he was checking an email on his phone. “What do you mean?”

“I dunno,” Steve said, looking back at him. As he did, he caught sight of Bucky running past the window again, seemingly tripping on something before laughing again and darting off into the yard again. Sarge must have really been on the chase. He didn’t even hear him barking anymore. “This morning, he woke up before I did and he was in the kitchen. When I went down to check on him, he was talking to himself again. He seemed really nervous.”

Sam listened, nodding slightly before glancing down at his email again. “He missed his second dose yesterday, right?  Maybe he just got thrown a little off from it. Couple that with being in the house for the first night, he probably just had a bad morning.”

It seemed like a logical explanation. Steve relaxed, glancing down at the eggs again before picking up the skillet to scrape them onto a plate. Maybe he could fry up some extra bacon for Bucky. Lord knew he needed the extra calories. “Yeah, I guess that makes sense. Jesus, I honestly don’t know what I’d do without you sometimes.”

“That’s what I’m here for; to talk sense into people,” Sam chuckled.

Silence fell between them for a moment as Steve worked to finish up the breakfast he’d prepared for himself and Bucky. But just as he moved to place the skillet into the sink to be washed, he looked up in time to see Bucky suddenly tumble forward in the yard, hitting the ground hard and crying out. What the hell, had Sarge pushed him?! “Jesus!” Steve exclaimed, dropping the sponge into the sink and turning to make a break for the back door. Behind him, he heard Sam get to his feet instantly, and the two darted from the kitchen out to the yard.

Steve’s eyes were locked on Bucky as he rolled to his back, looking ready to cry as he stared down at his hands. A flash of red caught Steve’s eyes as he ran to him, feeling his stomach knot up in anxiety at the sight of blood on his palms. “Bucky?! Buck, look at me.” he said, dropping down next to him and placing his hands on his shoulders. He looked down and saw fresh cuts littering his palms, still welling up with blood and flecked with snowflakes and dirt from the ground. “Shit, you okay? What happened, baby? Did Sarge knock you over?”

“I was j-just playing with him,” Bucky said, his voice hitching audibly as he stared at his hands tearfully. “I didn’t mean to make him mad. I didn’t mean to!”

“Hey, hey,” Steve shushed, brushing his fingers over Bucky’s cheek. He caught a few teardrops on his fingers and he leaned down to smile at him. “It’s okay. It’s okay, don’t cry baby. C’mon, let’s go clean your hands off, alright? It’s okay, you didn’t make Sarge mad.”

Bucky didn’t answer him. Instead, he nodded silently, letting Steve hold his arms as he helped him up. With a careful hand, Steve wrapped his arm around Bucky’s waist and guided him back to the house, carefully skirting around Sam as he walked him inside. This was okay. His pills made him dizzy sometimes. Bucky tripped on Sarge and simply fell over in the yard; the crying was understandable, especially if Bucky feared he might have accidentally hurt Sarge when he fell. Sam was right, there was no need for Steve to panic over every little thing that happened to Bucky right now.

Helping him out of his coat, Steve turned Bucky to the downstairs bathroom and led him inside. Turning the water on lukewarm, Steve held his wrists gently and rinsed Bucky’s hands off, watching pink blood and dirt wash down the drain to show off the little, raw cuts in his palms. They weren’t deep, but they were bleeding pretty hard still. He’d need some gauze for those cuts.

“There, that’s not so bad,” Steve said lightly, smiling up at his husband. Turning to the drawer, he removed a roll of gauze from inside and a spray bottle of antibacterial solution. Spritzing the fluid onto his palms, Steve gently blew across the stinging cuts before gently wrapping Bucky’s hands up in gauze and taping it off with a smile. “See? That’s alright, you’re okay, baby.”

“He’s mad at me,” Bucky said mournfully, not meeting Steve’s gaze. He didn’t even seem to register Steve’s gentle words, too intent on staring at his bandaged hands to meet his gaze. “I didn’t… I didn’t play right, and he got mad and pushed me. I’m sorry, Stevie.”

“Bucky, it’s okay,” Steve pushed, rubbing his hand up and down his back gently. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I promise, okay?” When Bucky nodded in understanding, Steve simply leaned in, pressing a kiss to his lips and smirking at him. “C’mon, you’re just in time for food. I made eggs and bacon?”

Bucky seemed to perk up a bit at that and he nodded, leaning into Steve’s chest as the two of them made their way out of the bathroom back to the kitchen. As they entered, Bucky looked up when Sam walked back into the kitchen from the yard, and he waved at him meekly with a bandaged hand. “Hi, Sam…”

“Hey, Buck. Got some war wounds there, huh?” Sam asked, gesturing to his bandaged hands with a wink.

“Yeah,” Bucky mumbled, taking a seat. He shrugged out of his coat and let it puddle behind his back in the chair before Steve approached him with a plate and set it down in front of him. But just as he reached out to pick up a fork, Steve returned to the table with his pill and set it down on the table with a glass of water. Bucky froze, looking up at Steve uncertainly. “Do I have to take it now?”

“Yeah, Buck, it’s noon.” Steve chuckled, turning back to the counter to fetch his own plate. But when he turned back to regard his spouse, he was surprised to find him hesitantly staring at his pill. “Cmon Buck, it’s not gonna bite.”

Bucky looked up at Steve. His eyes narrowed slightly in suspicion before he finally reached out and plucked the pill up. With a tremble in his fingers, Bucky slipped the pill into his mouth and swallowed it down with a swig of water. He coughed for a second, ducking his head away from Steve as he stared at his plate in front of him. “Okay… can I go now?”

Steve frowned. Watching him, he walked over to the table and stared down at the plate in front of him. “You’re not hungry? You’re not supposed to take your pill on an empty stomach. You know that, Buck. At least take a couple bites for me.”

Bucky didn’t move. He simply stared at the plate in front of him, his shoulders beginning to tremble harder. He didn’t look at Steve, nor Sam. He simply just stared straight ahead. For a brief moment, Steve flashed back to the seizure in the institute, and his shoulders tensed, ready to jump in and help him, even as his heart leaped into his throat.

But a moment later, Bucky suddenly moved, reaching out. He snatched up the fork at the side of the plate and took a few hurried mouthfuls of food before throwing the fork back down onto the table, where it clattered across to the other side. He didn’t so much as look at Steve as he got back to his feet and darted from the kitchen, glaring at the floor as he ran.

Steve slumped. Staring after his husband, he felt like he’d been punched in the gut. There went all their progress so far. Sighing audibly, he offered Sam a defeated look before reaching down to pick up the mostly untouched plate of food. “And we’re back to square one,” he grumbled in defeat.

“Steve,” Sam soothed. He got to his feet and stepped up behind the blond to place his hand on his shoulder. “Listen, man. You’re gonna have ups and downs, sometimes even in the same day. It’s only been a couple months since you found him and only a couple months since he was diagnosed. It’s gonna take time to get his head back on straight. You gotta be a little more patient than this, okay?”

Steve sighed. Reaching up, he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and turned to face Sam head on. “I get it. I really do, Sam. But… sometimes I just wonder if there’s ever gonna be any really good days for us at all. Most of the time he’s like this. Skittish around me. Sometimes it’s like he looks right through me like I’m not even there.” He hung his head, fingertips tightening around the edge of the sink. “I know I’m supposed to be patient, Sam. But– I just want my husband back.”

Sam nodded. He squeezed Steve’s shoulder for a second before stepping back. “Do you want me to go talk to him for you? Maybe see if I can figure out why he’s acting up like this? Something could be bothering him and he just doesn’t know how to articulate it.”

Steve snorted. He looked up at him, smiling a little easier at the thought. “That’d be great. I’m gonna just clean up down here and give him some space. But he seems to like you right now, so go for it.”

“Aye aye, Captain,” Sam replied. Saluting him, he stepped away from Steve’s side and slipped out of the kitchen to go find Bucky.

Steve leaned against the counter, listening to the sound of Sam’s footsteps receding into the house. He leaned back against the counter, taking a moment to relax himself and push his negative thoughts away. Sam was right; Bucky just needed time to get used to the house again. He needed to be more patient than this. They’d only been home for less than two days for God’s sake. What was he, expecting miracles?

Shaking his head in disgust at himself, Steve turned back to the sink and began to wash the dishes from their late breakfast. He worked quietly, scrubbing the pans and plates before setting them in the rack to dry.

But as he finished the last plate, Steve felt an unusual sensation behind him. He felt like someone had snuck up behind him while he wasn’t looking; all the hair on the back of his neck stood up at the sensation and he turned on his heel, his eyes wide in surprise. He opened his mouth to scold whoever had tried to sneak up behind him, but was met with the sight of an empty kitchen.

Weirder still that sensation of being watched did not go away.

Steve frowned. Swallowing thickly, he looked around the kitchen, trying to see if he could spot a shoulder, or an elbow sticking out from the corners. Surely, Bucky had snuck back down to the kitchen at some point. Sam wouldn’t have been the one to do so; he had a penchant for announcing himself whenever he crept up behind another person. Something about not breaking trust nor getting his nose broken in the process.

“Buck?” Steve called. He stepped away from the counter, looking about the kitchen for a long beat. He held his breath, approaching the hallway just by the front foyer. But the moment he stepped out into the hallway, he was surprised to find there was no one there. He was alone.

“The fuck,” he grumbled to himself. Steve turned back to the kitchen, shrugging off the weird phenomenon for a second. It was just the weird day. He was on edge, because Bucky was on edge. There was nothing wrong. There _couldn’t_ have been anything wrong.

Stepping back up to the sink, Steve picked up the plates he’d been cleaning and began to dry them one by one. He tried to push the anxiety from his mind and focus on his task. Sam was upstairs talking to Bucky. Sarge was out in the yard. He was alone in the kitchen. He had no reason to feel nervous at all.

Just as Steve reached for another plate to dry, a loud **‘ _bang!’_** echoed through the kitchen, as loud as a thunder clap. Yelping loudly, Steve whirled on his heel, his hand going directly for the handle of a knife in the drying rack. He twisted, brandishing the knife into the kitchen, though he didn’t have much of a chance to face whoever was behind him. Seconds after he had turned, there was a tumultuous crash behind him, the sound of glass plates shattering loudly.

Steve nearly screamed, his hand still clamped around the handle of the knife. It took him several moments to realize he was, yet again, staring into an empty kitchen. No one had crept in behind him. No one was at the front door, or the hallway. No one. In fact, he could still hear Sam and Bucky’s voices through the ceiling. Odd, how Sam hadn’t heard the crash of his dishes falling to the floor and come running.

Breathing heavily, Steve slowly lowered the knife to his side; he fought the urge to succumb to an asthma attack that threatened to take him over. Nothing happened. Nothing was wrong. His shoulders slumped in relief as he glared into the kitchen, cursing whatever had fallen that had scared the shit out of him so badly. Now he had broken dishes he needed to clean up from the floor.

Only…

Only, when he turned back to the counter, Steve was stunned to find his plates were perfectly fine. Not a single one had fallen from the rack, and there wasn’t a crack to be found.

Steve blinked. He stared at the plates, and his fingers flexed around the knife handle instinctively. Okay… that was weird. Weirder than weird. He could have sworn he’d accidentally knocked the plates off the counter…

“Hey, you okay?”

Steve yelped, whirling on the kitchen again. He brandished the knife, only to find himself coming face to face with Sam. Sam had leaped back at the sudden action, his hands going up to the defensive as he stared at Steve. “Jesus Christ, Rogers!”

“Shit!” Steve gasped. He lowered the knife to his side again, staring at Sam for a moment before he slumped back against the counter. “Christ, don’t fuckin’ scare me like that.”

“Look who’s talkin’!” Sam retorted. He lowered his hands to his sides and gave Steve a concerned look. “The fuck is wrong with you? You were staring at the counter like you’d seen a ghost.”

Steve looked up at his friend. That sensation from earlier was still weighing on his conscious, making him fidgety. Without a word, he shoved the knife back into the kitchen block and turned away from Sam. Okay. He’d scared himself. That’s all it was. He’d scared himself and his anxiety was getting to him again. “Nothing. I almost dropped my plates on the ground and scared myself. They… they’re my mother’s china.”

Okay. Lame lie he knew it. He didn’t really feel like telling Sam the reason he’d nearly gored him was because he thought some freak had broken into his house, broke his china and then miraculously fixed it in the span of two seconds. They already had one crazy person to deal with.

Sam leveled him with a look. For a second, he didn’t seem like he was going to believe him. But after a moment, he slumped back and offered up a weak sigh. “Okay. I get it, this whole thing has got everyone on edge. Just… try not to stab your best friend next time you’re having some sort of anxiety attack, okay?”

Steve laughed, a weak and pitiful sound. “Okay, will do. How’s Bucky?”

“He’s…” Sam frowned and looked back to the hallway. “He’s upstairs in your bedroom, curled up on the bed. He didn’t really seem like he wanted anyone around, but I managed to get him to calm down a little bit. Got him talking.”

“What did he say?” Steve asked. He turned and began to put away his china, paying extra attention to do so without breaking them.

“I dunno. I would ask Dr. Pierce about any sort of recurrent episodes or something. I think he’s flashing back to when he was in the cabin.”

Steve frowned. Looking up at his friend, he leaned his hip against the counter. “Now? Wouldn’t he have already done so? He’s never done this before.”

Sam shrugged. He turned to the table, where he grabbed his coat from the back of the chair and shrugged into it. “I dunno, man. But I’d ask Dr. Pierce anyway. If he’s off by a dose for his meds, that might explain it.

Steve nodded. Once he’d finished cleaning up the mess, he turned back to his friend and offered him a smile. “Thanks. Should I leave him alone right now?”

“Probably not a bad idea,” Sam offered. He turned for the hallway, leading Steve towards the door. When they reached it, he turned back to Steve and offered him a solemn look. “Especially right now. He was talkin’ to me about watching two guys get killed. Real gruesome details. I probably wouldn’t push him while he’s having some sort of episode, but keep an eye on him just to make sure he doesn’t do anything funny.”

Steve listened. He made a face at that news and looked away from Sam. “Jesus, I’m sorry. You didn’t have to be the one to hear that. I should have gone to talk to him.”

Sam shook his head. “No, I think it was best that I brought him down. He said “My husband is mad at me,” while trying not to cry. So I think, while he’s this volatile, you should keep a distance. Just until he stops crying. Then go see him and comfort him. Let him know you’re not mad at him for not eating his food okay?”

Steve flinched. He looked up at the stairwell, feeling his heart clenching in his chest. “Alright… I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you for watching out for him, Sam. I really appreciate it.”

“Don’t sweat it. But I gotta go now. Work to do at the office. You two just take it easy today and call me if you need me, alright?” Sam turned, but stopped at the doorway. “Oh, by the way,” he spoke up again. “I’d check your yard for chuckholes or something. I think Bucky tripped and fell on his own.”

“What makes you say that?” Steve asked.

“Well, when you ran over to him, I got a good look at the yard,” Sam explained. “Sarge was all the way on the other side of the yard, sleeping in his dog house, so Bucky must not have tripped on him.” When Steve gave him a blank look, Sam just shrugged.” All I’m sayin’ is maybe have someone check out the yard and fill any holes there might be. Don’t want either of you to roll an ankle, right?”

With that, Sam turned and left the house. The door closed behind him, shutting off any sort of warmth Steve felt in his home at that moment. The minute he was left to himself again, a shudder ran up his spine and he turned back to the kitchen. For a moment he didn’t move, simply staring at the counter where he’d been cleaning dishes. He still couldn’t shake how weird that whole thing was. So… Bucky hadn’t tripped on Sarge? But… he’d said he had. He’d mentioned Sarge had gotten mad and tripped him…

Steve was jarred from his thoughts by a hand on his shoulder. He fought the urge to jump, turning back to see Bucky staring up at him like he’d done something grievously wrong. Steve sighed, forcing himself to relax. _Jesus,_ his nerves were shot that day. “Buck. You feeling a little better?” he asked. Steve slapped on a smile for his spouse, hoping to placate his earlier misgivings.

Christ, trying to keep up with the emotional back and forth was beginning to give him whiplash.

Bucky nodded. He rubbed his elbow with his bandaged hands, chewing his lower lip raw as he stood in front of Steve. “Y-yeah. I’m better.” Inhaling slowly, Bucky finally tore his gaze from the floor and met Steve’s head on. “He said I did a bad thing. I’m sorry, I did it. I won’t do it again, I promise.”

Steve blinked, taken totally aback by that. What? Sam had told Bucky he’d done something wrong? That just didn’t seem like it was Sam’s style at all. Sure, he was a professional at giving Steve a hard time, but that was a mutually decided upon arrangement. Steve never took orders from anyone, but Sam? Sam was able to remind him when he was being a shithead and put him back on the right track. Sam would never blatantly tell someone they were “bad”. Never in a million years, especially not someone suffering traumatic damage like Bucky.

“Well, you didn’t do a bad thing. Not at all,” Steve murmured. He reached out, brushing his right thumb over Bucky’s cheek before cupping his chin. “Look at me for a second, okay?” When Bucky finally complied, Steve leveled him with a look. “After last night, and this morning, don’t think I’m mad at you or disappointed. I’m not. I swear it.”

“You’re sure?” Bucky asked meekly.

Steve smiled. “Positive. We’re just taking this one day at a time. Just you and me against the world. We’re gonna tackle this together and you’re gonna get better. And I promise you, I’m gonna be with you every step of the way. To the end of the line, right?”

Bucky smiled. He butted his cheek into Steve’s palm, reaching up to wrap his own bandaged hand around his wrist in return. “Yeah. To the end of the line.”

It was the closest to the old days Steve had felt in a long time.

Beaming at Bucky, Steve leaned in, pressing a kiss to Bucky’s lips gently. He lingered for a moment, feeling Bucky return the kiss eagerly. When he felt Bucky’s hand wrap around the back of his neck, Steve shivered in delight, pressing further to nip gently at Bucky’s lower lip. After a moment, he pulled back to give Bucky a promising look, and smiled. “Yep. You and me against the world. And right now, the world needs me to finish with these dishes and for you to go relax in the living room. Your job is way more important than mine, so I expect you diligently at your post, soldier. Okay?”

Bucky giggled. He nodded at Steve, looking up at him happily as he leaned back. They shared a tender gaze for a moment. But just as Steve moved to turn around, he caught sight of Bucky’s eyes darting behind him and widening to frightened orbs.

“Don’t!” Bucky shouted. His bandaged hands shot out instantly, grabbing Steve’s shoulders and holding him close. “Don’t!”

“What?!” Steve exclaimed. His heart jackhammered to life in his chest at the sudden gesture and he stared at Bucky, disbelieving. “What? What is it?”

“Don’t turn around!” Bucky gasped. Every so often his eyes darted past Steve’s head, growing wider by the second. A whimper escaped him and he squeezed Steve’s shoulders. “Don’t turn around. Please.”

Steve froze. Every hair on the back of his neck stood up on end at the complete urgency in Bucky’s eyes. He could feel the same strange sensation at his back that he’d felt just a few minutes prior, and he swallowed, fighting back the tension growing in his lungs. But he did not turn around, just as Bucky asked.

What in the hell was going on?

“Buck,” Steve said. He shook his head, fighting not to look over his shoulder. “Why– Why am I not turning around? What’s behind me?”

Bucky didn’t answer him. Instead, his gaze remained locked over Steve’s head, up into the kitchen. Neither moved, nor spoke as the seconds crawled by like little clusters of eternity. They were so close, Steve could make out the reflection of the kitchen in Bucky’s eyes.

Strange enough, he could see a shadow in them. A shadow that really didn’t belong in that kitchen at all.

Fighting back against his fears, Steve tore his eyes from Bucky’s and slowly turned his head. Prepared to see the worst possible thing, Steve held his breath, pulling his shoulder free from Bucky’s grip and turning on his heel.

He was met with nothing but empty kitchen.

Staring into the empty kitchen, Steve felt his heart turn into a puddle in his stomach. He slumped, going almost boneless with relief as he stared at the empty kitchen around them. Swallowing the taste of bile in his throat, he turned back to Bucky and stared at him. “The hell was that?” he asked. He tried to ignore how breathless he sounded.

Bucky didn’t answer him. Instead, he let go of Steve’s other shoulder, his arms going limp at his sides. He didn’t look up at Steve, eyes locked on the floor in front of him before he stepped back. “Nothing. Nothing, Stevie.” Stepping back a few paces, Bucky finally glanced up at Steve and offered him a sad smile. “I’m gonna go in the living room. I’m sorry about the mess…”

With that he was gone, leaving Steve standing alone and confused in the kitchen. Mess? What mess? Taking the moment to collect himself again, Steve brushed his hand down his side, only to jump and hiss loudly. His thumb flared to life with pain, and he yanked his hand from his thigh. “Ouch!” he growled. Looking down, Steve stared at his hand, only to come up short. At his side, the leg of his jeans had a dark smear across the side of it. Upon closer inspection, he realized he had a swipe of blood across his thigh, right where his hand rested at his side. And when he looked at his hand, he was stunned.

Confused, Steve reached up and dug at his thumb for a moment. Drops of blood welled up on the digit as he dug at it, trying to relieve whatever was causing him pain. Hissing in pain, Steve dug and dug, until he finally managed to get whatever was hurting his thumb, out. He stared at his free hand, feeling his finger throbbing from the pain. At first, maybe he’d thought it was a thorn or something. Maybe a giant splinter from when he’d been cleaning up Bucky’s hands.

Instead, he stared down at the distinct shape of a shard of white china, the exact same material as the plates he thought he’d broken. For a long second, Steve couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Broken china shard in his finger, and blood all along his hand.

_‘I’m sorry about the mess…’_

Bucky’s words echoed in his mind, and his stomach clenched up in anxiety. Slowly, Steve turned around again, his eyes going to the cupboards. He fought the urge to cry out, stumbling forward. The cupboard doors were all open, the cubby holes empty.

And all across the floor, shards of broken china littered the tile floor, silently appearing out of nowhere and speckled with drops of bright red blood.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on [TUMBLR](http://steves--winter--boobear.tumblr.com/) MY FLOCK.


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